


Days in the Sun

by bluespring864



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Background Relationships, F/M, POV Hermione Granger, POV Severus Snape, Post-War, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 07:03:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 77,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12953922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluespring864/pseuds/bluespring864
Summary: One day, during her eighth year at Hogwarts, Hermione happens upon Severus Snape where she would least have expected him.A story about two people getting to know each other.(Complete - all chapters + epilogue posted now)





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> All right, here we go. My first Harry Potter fanfiction - I have started several, but this is the first I actually finished. Which took longer than expected, because, somehow, this developped into a 78,000 word monstrum. I have never written anything quite this long, so please forgive this story's flaws, of which there are many (or just don't read it). This is the first fiction I have written in English after a five year hiatus, so I might be a bit rusty, as well. And it is self-betaed, because I don't know anyone in this fandom, least of all someone whom I could burden with this text. So consider yourselves warned ;-)
> 
> About the (lack of) rating+warnings: there are one or two sex scenes towards the end, but the rest of it would be mostly GA, I guess. A few descriptions of violence, but rarely graphic, in my opinion. Correct me if I'm wrong. Maybe this deserves a warning, as well: I rather fear it might be a bit boring sometimes.
> 
> As previously stated, this story is complete. I will be adding a chapter every day or at least every other day, should RL start acting up. Chapters vary a bit in length between 1000 and 3000 words.
> 
> Standard disclaimer (I don't know if these are technically sins, but I do feel bad about them): Well, stealing that disclaimer line, to start with. Not knowing any Latin and inventing weird stuff. Not knowing any magic and inventing weird stuff. Slight one-dimensionality of OCs. Quite possibly mixing British and American spelling. Also quite possibly, unconciously stealing ideas from the tons of fics I have read (If I have done so, please let me know so I can at least credit you.) Thinking of something and translating it poorly to the page. Being uncertain about everything, but posting it anyway. Making JKR's perfect characters execute my stupid ideas etc., etc. You get the drift.
> 
> Should you enjoy the story anyway, I'd be happy to receive some <3 and comments!

The sight was so plainly impossible that she stopped short. A small distance away, Severus Snape was… sunbathing. He was laying back in the grass, his discarded robes a makeshift pillow under his head, wearing only black trousers and a grey shirt, the fabric of the sleeves neatly rolled up to his elbows. He was barefoot.

Hermione couldn’t help a sharp intake of breath. It was enough to make Snape’s eyes snap open. Before she had discerned where it could possibly have come from, his wand was pointing at her.

„I’m sorry, Sir. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she said in a near-whisper. Her voice carried in the quiet little courtyard.

„Miss Granger.”

His face was perfectly bland, as was his tone. She couldn’t read him at all. At least, he lowered his wand again as he acknowledged her presence.

„I’ll just…”

She turned on her heels and fled.

„Miss Granger!”

His deep voice and commanding tone stopped her in her tracks.

„Did you have a specific purpose in coming here?”

She turned to find that he hadn’t gotten up. Her professor was still lying back, with his upper body half turned to her, resting his weight on his elbows. She had to look down on him. It was more than a little disconcerting, after looking up for the last seven years.

„I came here to study. I… didn’t know anybody else knew of this place, sir.”

Snape gave an indelicate snort.

„Students always seem to think that Hogwarts reveals its secrets to nobody but them.”

„Yes, sir,” Hermione readily agreed. For an instant, Snape looked somewhat disappointed, as if he had expected opposition. Then he let his head fall back and waved a dismissive hand.

„Well, go on then, study. Miss Granger. ”

And he closed his eyes.

For a moment, she stared, incredulous. Then she shook off the conflicting impulses of simultaneously wanting to run away (the sensible reaction when it came to Snape) and wanting to get closer (her habitual reaction when presented with something curious and unexplainable), and took herself to her usual spot just on the edge of the grass, where she reclined against one of the columns that lined the passage around the courtyard. Well, she was actually three columns down from her usual spot, but that one would have kept her way too close to the – apparently still sunbathing – potions master.

She stole a glance while conjuring a blanket, to spread out her books and notes, and then wasn’t sure whether she should laugh or sigh when the blanket turned out black. She had been aiming for blue and white stripes. Black, then. This time, she concentrated properly and when she looked down again, she had managed the silver ornaments she had envisioned. After frowning for a second at the beautiful filigree horses, she changed them into dragons and then finally got to work revising. NEWTs were only three months away.

When she next looked up, the sun had moved along, leaving the far part of the patio in the shade. She liked this place, had been coming here often ever since she had found it, not quite two weeks into the first term of their post-war year at Hogwarts. A never-before-seen wooden door in one of the third floor corridors had stood open, beckoning. It had led into the passage around the courtyard, which had immediately reminded her of a monastery cloister.

And even though Hermione could hardly call herself religious, the place somehow exuded a strong feeling of peace. Peace, which escaped her so often in the hectic months after the war. Here, the ground under her feet seemed solid, even if, in actuality, the courtyard had to be on the roof of some of the second-floor classrooms. Then again, one could never be quite sure what was where within this castle.

She smiled a little when her eyes fell on the still form of her black-clad professor. It would seem as if her monastery had gained a priest, notwithstanding the fact that Snape wasn’t quite his usual buttoned-up self today. He had now crossed his arms behind his head and seemed to be looking up at the passing clouds.

Was he alright? Hermione wondered. He had been uncharacteristically civil during their exchange, although that was not completely without precedence since he had resumed his teaching duties. He didn’t yell and threaten as much anymore now that the war was over. Even Harry was mostly just ignored. What was much odder about the present situation was that Snape had felt comfortable enough to doze off with her so close, and that the most dignified man she knew didn’t seem to mind her seeing him in a slightly dishevelled state.

“He must trust me,” she thought with a start. As she came out of her reverie, she realised that Snape was now sitting up and staring at her with narrowed eyes. In a fluid movement, he got up, his robes magically fastening themselves around him, and stepped into boots that had seemingly appeared from nowhere. In a few quick strides, he was towering over her.

“Still studying, I trust, Miss Granger?”

She looked down for a second on the book open in her lap. Then upwards again, into shuttered eyes.

“No,” she replied, closing the book with a decisive snap and getting to her feet. “I lost concentration a while ago.”

“I noticed, you were staring at me.” His tone was accusatory, maybe even disappointed. But why should he be? He was an enigma, what else could the most curious student in the castle do? And...

“And you were staring right back, sir.”

Oh my. That certainly wasn’t meant to come out of her mouth.

Inexplicably, he didn’t get angry, but looked away.

“Go before I change my mind and dock points”, he said in his slightly hoarse after-Nagini voice.

Hermione didn’t think twice. She flicked her wand to neatly pile and shrink her things, picked them up, and left.

When she sat with the boys in front of the common room fire that evening, they found her distant, obviously absorbed in something quite puzzling, but she shook off their worried questions with a small smile.

~---~

Down in the courtyard, Severus Snape had watched the girl leave. When she had disappeared through the heavy oak door in the corner, he had looked down, and, deep in thought, had only seen a few moments later that she had left a blanket. Automatically, he’d picked it up and folded it carefully, smoothing over the silver ornaments. It probably wouldn’t keep very long, being conjured from thin air. There were of course potions one could brew to preserve such conjured objects. Not that he should waste one on a silly blanket of Grangers, even if the design was quite pleasing.

When he turned to leave, the thin cloth had inexplicably made its way into one of the pockets of his robe.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another courtyard meeting, and an unexpected invitation.

It was a week later, on another sunny Saturday afternoon, that they met again in the courtyard. Hermione found another reason to stare – Snape was sitting on the step that separated the passageway from the grass, a book in hand, barefoot again... and he was wearing Muggle clothes. Black, of course, but still. Trousers and a t-shirt (a t-shirt!), the ensemble completed by a black silk shawl wrapped around his neck.

There were scars from the snakebite, Hermione assumed. She didn’t know, though not for lack of trying – after he had woken up, Snape had refused all company until he was sufficiently recovered, and then had come back to teach as his usual sarcastic self. Mostly. There were some cracks in the facade, and, if last time hadn’t been a one-off, those cracks were particularly large in this place right here.

Snape looked up and calmly pinned her with his gaze.

“Granger.”

“Professor Snape.”

Strangely enough, he shot her a bemused look, as if he had expected her to call him by another name. Before she really knew what she was doing, she heard herself ask,

“Why on earth are you wearing a t-shirt?”

She quickly added a “Sir?”, as if that would make the question less impertinent somehow.

Hermione was baffled once again when Snape chuckled.

“It’s more comfortable in this weather. And nobody will see me here.”

“I am here, sir,” she couldn’t help but mention.

“Yes, but you don’t count.”

Her face must have displayed her dismay openly, because he immediately shook his head.

“Not like that, you silly girl.”

She looked at him, silently asking.

“Fine, I will spell it out for you. I do not mind you seeing me like this. That does not imply that you are insignificant.”

Hermione suppressed her sudden rush of giddiness at that, although it was warring with utter astonishment. She could not fathom where he was coming from with this remark. Her own reaction, she understood quite well: unfortunately, she had always cared what Snape thought about her, had always wanted his respect. He mostly seemed impossible to please, and she loved a challenge, unhealthy as it might be.

Snape, for his part, now looked decidedly uncomfortable.

“All right,” she said quietly, her voice a little breathy (she hated it when that happened). His look changed to relief for just a second, until she couldn’t hold back the question any longer.

“Why?”

He sighed.

“Not now.”

“All right,” she whispered again and, without further ado, settled down to study – on the same spot as the week before. It was only a few feet away from her professor, who had returned to his book. Had he moved closer on purpose?

Quite a long time later she cast Tempus, realised that it would be at least another hour until Ginny and the boys got tired of Quidditch, and was therefore just going back to her books, when Snape spoke up.

“Listen to this, Granger.”

He didn’t look up to see if she did do as asked, but continued directly, his eyes on the page in front of him, a finger placed under the line he was citing.

“Witchgrass is added for its binding qualities. Other properties of witchgrass, while insufficiently explored in this context up to date, have not been examined in the making of this potion and will not be treated in detail, as they do not influence the brewing process of the Pensieve Solution.”

She stared again as her professor made a disgusted noise.

“What does this imbecile think he is on about? This has been published last year! If the man had ‘examined’ just a little further or even remembered his OWL-level potions classes he would perhaps have realised that witchgrass is listed as ‘memory-corrosive’ in texts as old as _Most Potente Potions_! But of course, it will not influence the brewing process, he is correct in that. It will only start to unravel every memory placed in the solution until they’re gone. And within a couple of minutes, I might add. Can you tell me how that blistering fool has a deal with Hawthorne Editions, while I cannot even get an article into Potions Quarterly?”

Snape finally looked up, which seemed to make him remember whom he was talking to. He appeared faintly shocked at his own outburst, before his neutral look settled back into place. Well, at least she hadn’t been subjected to a sneer. Yet.

She took a deep breath and replied.

“Maybe you should try a pseudonym?”

Hermione only realized that he could infer from that remark quite a lot of things she hadn’t actually meant, when she saw the look of absolute fury on his face.

“You – “

Even as anger positively radiated from him, ostensibly giving off more heat than the fading rays of sunshine in the courtyard, he quite uncharacteristically seemed to be at a loss for words. Hermione seized her chance.

“I apologise, sir. I didn’t mean to imply that you should do that, truly I didn’t. I only wanted to point out that they might be biased, and that it has nothing to do with your obviously quite superior skill – I imagine that is the new Wintlorn book you were reading, I had only read positive reviews, but it seems to leave much to be desired. Thank you for pointing that out, it will save me some gallons because I had intended to buy it soon, especially as it examines rare potions – incidentally, are you planning to experiment with Pensieve Solution, such an interesting –“

“You are babbling, Granger. Please cease that irritating behaviour.”

Quiet descended around them as she forced herself to remain silent. _Truly, I did not mean to insult you_ , was playing in a loop in her head, but she didn’t attempt to speak again. When she lifted her gaze off the ground, he was looking at her with something that more closely resembled curiosity than anger.

“Would you be interested in Potions experimentation?”

Snape seemed to have it in him to shock her quite often recently.

“I... yes.”

He tilted his head a little.

“Why? You do everything by the book.”

That stung more than many of the insults he could have (and often had) thrown at her.

“I might be” – _force yourself to say it_ – “afraid of doing things wrong, but that does not mean that I don’t have any interest in experimentation.”

“You do not trust yourself?”

Why was he asking her these things? She sighed.

“Not really. As you may recall, my first experience with potions experimentation left me part-cat, and in the hospital wing.”

She honestly would never have expected to see Severus Snape grin. Smirk maybe, but grin? It showed off his ugly teeth but, unlike his usual sneer, it wasn’t in the least malicious. On the contrary, it turned out to be rather infectious. Hermione couldn’t really bring herself to grin at her past misfortune, but she managed a wry smile.

Again, there was astonishment in Snape’s eyes. Did he not believe her capable of laughing at her mistakes? Well, maybe she hadn’t exactly given him cause to think that she was.

Snape stood, which made her look up. He was backlit, so she could not distinguish his face clearly as he said,

“Well, Granger, if you are interested in some hopefully less disastrous experimentation: I will start brewing tomorrow evening at nine and could use an assistant.”

So that was in fact what his questions had been leading up to. His propensity to shock her truly knew no bounds as of late. Before she knew it, Snape was vanishing through the door that lead back into the castle, conjured robes having fastened themselves around his lean form as he walked. As she looked at the place where he had been just a moment ago, Hermione wondered idly whom she could baffle most by telling them that today, their Potions master was wearing a t-shirt under his robes.

~---~

On the way to the gloominess of the dungeons, Severus wondered what had gotten into him. Asking Hermione Granger to willingly spend time with the man who had, for six years, dismissed and denigrated the girl she had been at every turn...

Now that he no longer was under the influence of two sometimes loathsome, always demanding masters, he didn’t want to remember why he had said such hateful things to her, more than had been needed, really, to keep her at a distance, like everybody else.

True, she had been much more annoying in her youthful over-enthusiasm than she was now in her slightly melancholy state, but even that thought made him feel a little guilty these days (someone who had joined Voldemort at the age of seventeen had no business being happy about someone else losing their childhood innocence, after all).

There also was the other way she made him remember... He firmly refused to think about it. But even that – even that had irritated him much less recently. It was inconvenient that it could make him forget whom he was talking to, yes, but the reminders of the past didn’t hurt quite so much anymore, as if his penance had softened their sharp edges.

However, he hadn’t yet hinted to her in any way that he had come to such conclusions. She was well in her right to despise him. Inexplicably, she did not seem to do so, if the fact that he hadn’t scared her away from the courtyard yet was any indication. No, she had returned, and had talked to him without paying much heed to his teacher persona. He couldn’t remember when that had last happened to him at Hogwarts. 

Maybe the courtyard was a soothing retreat for her as much as it was for him. For Severus, it was one of the very few familiar places that did not hold any bad memories. And he intended to keep it that way.

Well, she wouldn’t show tomorrow for the brewing anyway, and he would just ignore her in the courtyard from now on.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The brewing of Pensieve solution, the concept of mellowing, and accidental points to Gryffindor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uncharacteristically for me, I like this chapter. So I hope you might enjoy it, as well :-)  
> Thanks for giving my little story a try, everyone!  
> By the way, if you haven't inferred it by now, this story definitely qualifies as "slow burn". I love this pairing, but to my mind, it's not an obvious one, so it's important to me to show the process of our two heroes getting to know each other.

Shortly before nine the next day, Hermione took the stairs from the common room downwards, two at a time, and shrieked a little when the middle of one staircase, deciding of its own volition to help her avoid running late, turned itself into a curvy slide. She sped past an astonished group of younger students and found herself slowing down at the entrance to the dungeons, the slide having gone into a light upwards slope at the end. Hermione looked at her watch and realized she had five minutes to spare.

 “Thank you,” she murmured to the castle as the steps reappeared. She would have left earlier, but Harry had held her back. He had, amazingly enough, looked slightly envious when she’d told him about her accidental meetings with Snape and the brewing invitation. When she had asked him about this reaction, he had grinned – a true Harry grin, rarer these days and therefore all the more precious.

“No, ‘Mione, I don’t envy you at all for spending time brewing with Snape. I’m just a tiny bit jealous that he apparently talks to you.”

Harry keenly felt that he needed to straighten some things out with the man, she knew, but Snape avoided him like the plague outside of lessons, and when Harry, brave as always, had cornered him, Snape had flat out refused to talk to him. She’d had to promise to ask for a meeting in Harry’s stead before he had let her go. Oh well. She’d see how it went first.

Knocking at the door of the Potions classroom at precisely nine o’clock (she loved arriving on time but not too early: punctual, but with no time to fret), she suddenly wondered if she was in the right place. Why would he be brewing in there and not in some private lab?

“Come in,” she heard Snape’s deep, calm voice.

He was standing in the door to the storeroom and didn’t look like he had expected her. No grave and imperious nod of welcome, just a hint of something in his glinting black eyes that was difficult to define. After a slightly uncomfortable pause “Come on then, Granger,” was all he said before he turned and disappeared into the storeroom.

Wordlessly, she followed him through the crammed space, filled to the brim with neatly labelled jars, boxes and bottles, to an open door on the other end of the room that led to...

“Wow,” she breathed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Snape’s satisfied smirk.

The room was large and completely round. Cauldrons of various sizes and distinct metallic gleams stood at equally round work stations constructed around each of them. At least three were simmering, their fumes contained in magicked bubbles. Looking up, she found a domed ceiling that was spelled to let through the early evening light. Judging from the softness the light added to the contours of the objects in the room, it had been captured at precisely the moment when the sun set, but before the shadows deepened, when everything seemed to be painted with a gentler stroke than in the harsh light of day. Actually, the ceiling had to be reflecting a permanent illusion of that instant, as night had already fallen outside.

“Welcome to my private workroom.”

Snape’s confidence had obviously returned with her bafflement.

 _He looks proud_ , Hermione thought, and couldn’t help but smile at him.

“It’s wonderful.”

Snape narrowed his eyes, as if expecting a qualifier to follow that assessment. When she remained silent, he nodded to a blackboard on the wall.

“As you can see, I am working on alternatives for some of the ingredients used to create Pensieve solution. It is notoriously difficult to brew, as I’m certain Hogwarts’ most dedicated student” – Hermione forced herself to ignore the dash of irony in his voice – “knows perfectly well. Additionally, it will only keep...“

“...for three months at a time.” Hermione spoke the words with him. Oh. She had involuntarily triggered the trademark sneer.

“Perhaps I should refrain from talking altogether and let you explain, Miss Granger? I was going to add something regarding Wintlorn’s imbecilic addition of Witchgrass, but maybe you can tell me all about that, hmm?”

Hermione tried to look contrite, but she spoke up nevertheless.

“I am sorry for interrupting you, sir. However, I would add that, even though I have not had a chance to look at Wintlorn’s modified recipe, I assume that the addition of Witchgrass could greatly simplify the brewing process because it can work as a substitute for the first three or maybe even four of the extremely rare ingredients you have listed in the left corner there.”

She gestured a bit wildly at the blackboard.

“This, of course, might appeal on a superficial level but renders the potion basically useless because of its corrosive properties, as you have stated. Sir.”

She stopped to take a breath and looked Snape straight in the – again slightly narrowed – eyes.

“Do tell me how you arrive at this conclusion, Miss Granger?”

She smiled uncertainly.

“Well, I could be completely wrong, sir, but after you told me about the Witchgrass, I ran some equations with different ingredient combinations for your own recipe...”

Hermione trailed off at the incensed look in her professor’s eye. That could only mean...

“I guess it isn’t published? I found a copy of the brewing instructions for Pensieve solution in a book that Professor Dumbledore left me. The parchment was used as a bookmark. It appeared to be written in your hand, sir...”

Snape huffed loudly. Then, for whatever reason, he smiled, fondness in his eyes. For a second, his face was transformed to almost-beauty, before the smile turned into a pained grimace and he murmured something that sounded a lot like ‘meddling from beyond the grave, that man’.

Briskly, he gestured for her to join him at one of the larger cauldrons and, in little more than two sentences, summed up several weeks of previous experimentation, as well as the change he had planned this evening. To Hermione’s astonishment, he also gave her a copy of his very detailed looking notes ‘to be absorbed by that bottomless pit of information that seems to pass for your mind’.

Then they started preparing for the brewing process, and speech seemed to desert the workroom completely. In between his own cutting, pulverising, measuring, Snape intermittently gestured at ingredients, knives, pestles, as well as at the blackboard, and Hermione complied wordlessly. She knew what to do. In fact, she had become kind of fascinated with this particular potion right about when Harry had asked her to help with the safe extraction of Snape’s memories from the Pensieve a few days after the final battle.

Luckily, Harry had asked before simply trying it, as the process could be quite tricky when the memories to be extracted weren’t one’s own. In the end, they had only managed by discretely ‘borrowing’ Snape’s wand for a while (long before he woke up, of course, when they were still able to visit him in the hospital wing). She wondered if he knew that. After all, the vial of memories had been waiting for him on his nightstand when Snape had finally woken up. Well, better not to ask him about it.

There was no time for idle thought now anyway, as Snape started the brewing and she began to hand him what was to go into the cauldron in quick succession. Pensieve Solution wasn’t a time-consuming potion to brew, but it required extremely precise timing and was highly volatile at several stages. Which fact explained why Snape suddenly cursed under his breath and threw a spell at Hermione, before immediately adding the Tunisian sand beetle eyes. The next ingredient already in hand, he said without turning,

“Protective spell. I forgot earlier. I am always wearing it with this potion.”

Hermione tried to acknowledge this calmly, but her answer must have come out anything but, because he turned and saw how much she was shaking.

“Granger! What is the matter?”

He sounded annoyed and worried in equal measure. Hermione tried to compose herself.

“You shot an unknown spell at me without warning, sir. I am sorry, my stupid brain seems to have perceived that as a threat and...Oh god, you need to stir!”

With a string of very creative expletives, Snape turned and did so. When the dangerously bubbling potion started to settle, he said, eyes still on the cauldron,

“I apologise, Miss Granger. Your reaction was quite understandable. I am not used to working with someone else.”

More than any of the things he had said to her these last days, this struck her as out of character. Snape apologizing was pretty much unheard of.

“You are staring again. What is it this time?” Snape asked, without looking away from the potion. How did he know?

“I...that is... sorry.” She didn’t really care to elaborate.

Snape stopped stirring and, with a sigh of relief, put down the stone rod he had been using. The potion now had to simmer for three minutes. Which, unfortunately, left the man perfectly able to pierce her with his frightfully intense stare.

“Well, out with it, girl.”

“You...that is, I was wondering, what... oh, it’s just that...”

He raised an eyebrow.

“You... seem to have mellowed a little.”

Snape laughed. A full, hearty bark of a laugh not entirely dissimilar to Kingsley’s loud guffaw, Hermione noted. Coming from the man in front of her, it was a laugh to make one’s worldview shift. She would never have thought such a thing possible, had fully expected an angry or at least snarky reaction.

He was looking at her rather...fondly now, the corners of his mouth still dangerously twitching.

“Could you believe that the fact that I am no longer at the beck and call of a raging madman might possibly achieve such a result, my dear Miss Granger?”

Before she could think of an answer to that, he had turned back to the cauldron again.

“Powdered sage leaves,” was all he said, and she handed them to him. They worked in near-silence for a few minutes, until the turquoise brew turned milky.

“Damn,” she heard.

“Oh, shouldn’t it have gone dark blue at this stage?” Hermione more commented than asked.

“Yes, well, fifty points to Gryffindor for being annoyingly right, I guess,” Snape hissed, and then turned a horrified look on her.

“No! That was sarcastic! Let’s remedy that. Fifty points from Gryffindor for, well, for being annoyingly right.”

Hermione had to smile a little. A year earlier, she might have been incensed. But, after all that had happened, it didn’t really matter so much to her anymore.

“And here I thought you were giving back all the points you have deducted from me over the years for knowing the answers even when you did not want to hear them...”

Before he could comment on that pronouncement, she added quickly, “So – what went wrong? The bristling nettles and the moonstone?”

Snape still looked a bit disgruntled.

“Yes, I was afraid that might happen. Both would of course help to create the memory-environment and on top of that, they are fairly common. I had hoped that the addition of moonstone later in the process might prevent any adverse reaction to the nettles...But perhaps...”

He summoned quill and parchment and began to scribble. Hermione watched silently for a few minutes, before he looked up again, raising an eyebrow once more.

“Ah, you are still here. There is nothing else you can help me with tonight.”

Hermione thought that she wouldn’t mind watching him for a while longer – he was a little dishevelled, and flushed from the potions fumes, and the soft light in the room definitely had an... interesting effect on his looks. But she nodded.

“May I assist again next time, sir?”

He looked at her sharply – excitedly, even? – but then waved a hand in that dismissive gesture he used so often.

“If you wish.”

“When...?”

“Friday. There is no time during the week.”

Something in his voice made her frown, but she couldn’t pinpoint what it was, so she just said, „All right. Good night, sir.”

“Good night, Granger.”

His nose was in his notes again. Hermione smiled, took the copies he had provided for her, and left.

Well, aside from the potion itself, that could hardly have gone better, she thought as she climbed the long flights of stairs to the common room. Oh. She had forgotten about Harry’s request. Next time, then.

~---~

Much later, Severus put down his quill. As he tidied his workroom, he wondered at his newfound tolerance of Hermione Granger. Had he indeed ‘mellowed’, as she suggested? If he discarded for a moment the one reason that had always compelled him to keep alienating her in particular, he could certainly admit to himself that, during his recovery, he had felt relief at the thought that he wouldn’t have to be at odds with his students and fellow staff-members quite so much anymore.

It had been one of his preferred strategies for keeping his cover: people tended to avoid thinking overmuch about truly unpleasant, but useful, people. Sure, they complained, but not too loudly, as they needed his help. And they kept their distance. Which, on the whole, was a desirable thing. The cases where he had regretted it had been far and few between, but had brought an unforeseen amount of pain over the years.

How and when Hermione Granger had ended up in that small group, he couldn’t say. And he still hadn’t the faintest clue why she now seemed to tolerate him as well, why she had even showed up this evening. He only knew that he didn’t mind. At all. That was a little worrying, Snape supposed, but he was tired of second-guessing himself.


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unwanted admirer (off-screen), a cheeky student and a prickly Potions master.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a really short chapter, sorry. But longer ones will soon follow ;-)

A potential occasion to plead Harry’s cause, so to speak, came much earlier than expected. Or could have come, had their interaction not gone awry awfully quickly. On Tuesday evening, just three days after their brewing session, Hermione slipped through the half-open door to the courtyard and password-spelled it closed. Panting, she leaned against it and then flinched visibly when a deep voice emerged from the shadows.

“Good spellwork, Miss Granger. However, I would appreciate you giving me the breakword. I do not react well to imprisonment and I would hate having to use brute force on the door.”

By now, she could make out the Snape-silhouette leaning against the third column to her left. Strangely enough, seeing him calmed her racing heart a little. Hermione even managed a small smile at the thought of Snape blasting the door to bits in a formidable battle pose. It died quickly when she remembered that he wanted the password. After several seconds of silence, she gave it to him in a nearly steady tone, careful to keep her wand down so as to avoid accidental deactivation of the spell.

“It’s ‘horny bastard’, sir.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Snape’s voice going higher was never a good sign.

“The password to end the locking spell, it – “

“I heard you, Miss Granger.”

He had come closer, was looming over her. Why wasn’t that intimidating anymore, even in the twilight of this place?

“I was merely expressing my astonishment at such a choice. Whom did you escape just now?”

Damn him for jumping to the correct conclusion.

“Quite frankly, that is none of your business, sir.”

That might not go over too well. But Snape remained calm, even if his voice was full of righteous indignation.

“It is if you are being threatened!”

Huh? That was rather sweet, actually.

“There was no threat; he was just very persistent with his compliments. And I can’t endure much of it at the moment.”

Snape was still looking at her closely. Then, the corners of his mouth twitched. Hermione suppressed a mad urge to lean in and maybe – kiss them? _Really, Hermione?_ It had to be a passing folly. Maybe some weird counterbalance to Aidan’s unwanted attention? She nearly missed Snape’s next, lowly-spoken words.

“Is it that French beau from Beauxbatons?”

Hermione suppressed a nervous giggle at the alliteration. How in Merlin’s name did he know? Out of the expats who had returned to Britain after the war, the persistent half-Frenchman currently attending Hogwarts for his final year was really getting on her nerves.

There was a fine smile on Snape’s lips now.

“I know a very subtle spell that could help with that problem, Granger.”

He looked faintly shocked at his own pronouncement, but didn’t retract the offer.

“Yes, please,” she sighed.

“Are you quite sure? He is rather good-looking, isn’t he?”

The conversation suddenly struck her as absurd. And what exactly was Snape thinking, commenting on a student’s looks?

“He’s all yours if you want him. OhgodIamsorry, professor.”

Snape looked furious.

“I can assure you, I am not in the habit of lusting after my students. The comment was only made for your sake.”

His tone was clipped. Hermione gulped.

“In that case, I might have perceived that comment as a little patronising, sir.”

Now he looked confused. Well, he wasn’t exactly known for his people-skills now, was he? She forced herself to look him straight in the eye and explain.

“I can decide for myself whom I find good-looking, don’t you think?”

Snape shrugged – he suddenly appeared to lose interest in the discussion and slumped a little against the wall beside the door. Hermione managed to calm herself down. It seemed that, once again, he was willing to overlook her impertinence.

“If you want that spell, Granger: cast _Occultus gratum_ on the irritating young man and he should feel quite indifferent towards you. He won’t notice that you have used it. If you are doing it correctly, that is.”

A silent _Lumos_ lit his wand and he showed her the movement. That didn’t look complicated at all. Rather elegant and fluid, in fact. She copied the movement and showed it to him several times. He nodded.

“Thank you, sir! I will try it. However did you come by that spell?”

She wasn’t sure if she liked the look in his eyes. Defiance and pain in equal measure... when had these eyes become so expressive to her? And there it was again – the sneer.

“I devised it myself and have used it a number of times. I’m sure it comes as a surprise to you that some people might find even your ugly Potions master attractive.”

With that, he grimaced disgustedly, hissed ‘horny bastard’ and disappeared through the door. Even if she hated to see him go, it was quite fortunate that he did do so. She might have told him all about certain people finding him attractive just now, had he stayed.

 ~---~

On his way to the great hall, Snape docked quite a few house points for minor offences. It allowed him to mostly avoid thinking about that scene just now in the courtyard. What the hell had he thought he was doing, talking to Granger like that? Letting her talk to him like that as well? What on earth had possessed him to give her that spell? He had never told anybody about it.

And then to disappear in a snit over words he had put in her mouth... Well, surely it was what she had been thinking; sounding so astonished that he would have need of that kind of spell. When he arrived at the dinner table, he started a heated Quidditch discussion with Minerva and forbade himself to _Think. About. It._


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why Pensieve solution matters, another thing that Hermione - surprisingly - gets away with, and the comfort of bitterness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, we continue with longer chapters. Thanks for all the Kudos, guys :-)

Friday was approaching fast and Hermione was getting nervous. Professor Snape had ignored her completely during Potions class and Harry had asked again if she could possibly... Hermione had snapped at him.

“Even if I’m not sure what went wrong, we are not on the best of terms right now, Harry. Have a little patience.”

Unfortunately, Ron had been present and had wanted to know all about the argument that was threatening to break out between Harry and her. Weirdly enough, however, he had immediately accepted her careful explanation of the matter. He had even found it quite amusing that Hermione was (mostly) getting along with Snape now.

“You’ll see mate,” he had said to Harry. “She’ll tame him soon enough and then you can talk to him all you want. Though I still don’t really understand why you think you have to.”

Hermione had stared incredulously.

“Tame him, Ron?”

Her shrill voice had grated even in her own ears.

Ron had just grinned.

“I think Hermione could do with her own pet Potions master, don’t you, Harry?”

Harry of course, had found that extremely funny. Hermione had subsequently accused Ron of spending too much time talking to George, and then had immediately felt guilty about that when Ron had gotten his melancholy ‘Fred’s-gone’-look.

She remembered that conversation now, as she made her way into the bowels of the castle. Tame Snape. As if. Even though she had to admit, the sneer did sometimes remind her of a wild animal, afraid to get hurt. She had tried to understand what exactly had derailed the conversation so completely last time, but she couldn’t put a finger on it.

Snape had not been as angry as he should have been at her impertinent, and frankly, offensive remark, but then had hurtled an unfounded accusation at her a mere minute later. Even so, she couldn’t quite muster the energy to be annoyed about it. The man was way too intriguing and she, as ever, way to curious.

Hermione raised her hand to knock on the door before she could have second thoughts, and was surprised to see it opening when she hadn’t even touched it yet. Snape’s slightly muffled voice could be heard from inside.

“Come through.”

That didn’t sound too bad. Maybe he was going to ignore the way they had parted last time? It certainly seemed so. When she came into the laboratory, he didn’t look up.

“Potion modifications are on the blackboard.”

She saw him distractedly push away a strand of hair with his long, elegant fingers, let her eyes wander over the sharp lines and angles of his body, freed from his outer robe, watched impossibly black eyes narrow at a line in his notes, which he eliminated with a subtle flick of his wand... She couldn’t help herself.

“You are not ugly, sir.”

His eyes were on her in an instant. Hermione knew her face was quickly adapting the colour of her Gryffindor tie, but she held his gaze. He raised a sardonic eyebrow.

“Why, thank you for that assessment, Granger. Take these gloves and cut the bristling nettles, would you?”

His voice sounded a bit hoarse again, but he looked as impenetrable as he always had in years past. Hermione complied with his request. She used the first topic that came to mind to cover the uncomfortable silence and asked him about where to buy those self-fitting work gloves.

After his curt but polite reply, she convinced herself that the atmosphere in the room was less strained. With time, it actually became so. Brewing could be quite meditative, Hermione realized.

“Is there a particular reason why we are working on Pensieve solution, sir?” she asked twenty minutes later, when they were finishing up the preparations.

Oh. She certainly seemed to have a knack for drawing out the sneer recently.

“Intellectual curiosity, scholarly praise and the satisfaction of finding a useful solution to a difficult problem not enough for you?”

His sarcasm hit her in the head like a bludger. When he put it like that... why exactly had she asked? There had been something...

“Last week. When you told me there was no time to continue before Friday. I just... it sounded like more than a slight inconvenience.”

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers of his left hand, but didn’t reply. She had to be on to something there, then. When he spoke, his voice was very quiet, barely more than a whisper.

“The ministry’s store of Pensieve solution will be running out in about six days. They will not be able to procure more with the Black Ghost Orchid and Demiguise hair shortages being what they are in these post-war times. I am sure you can use your overlarge brain to figure out why that would inconvenience me.”

The insult lacked the usual viciousness of tone. Hermione ignored it.

“I have no idea, sir.”

He looked at her, incredulous.

“Oh, come on, Miss Granger. I am certain the headmistress told her head girl that I have been reinstated provisionally, pending trial. She had enough trouble achieving even that.”

It was Hermione’s turn to look incredulous now. She sure felt it.

“No one talked to me about it, sir. Why is there going to be a trial? You are on that amnesty list for using Unforgivables during wartime!”

They had all been relieved to read their names on it when the document had been published shortly before the first Death Eater trials began. It had been good to see it magicked on parchment in black and white, even if Harry, Ron and her had already known about being included. Kingsley, in his function as acting minister, had talked to the three of them beforehand and had questioned Harry extensively about Snape’s role before agreeing to put his name down.

The man in question was regarding her warily now.

“What do you know about my name on that list?”

So she told him, and because there probably wouldn’t be a better occasion to mention it, she ended with relating to Snape how much Harry would like to talk to him. She got the sneer again for that.

“So I am beholden to a Potter once more. At least he did not save my life as well, or are you going to tell me that he send that phoenix, too?”

Hermione mutely shook her head. Snape continued, sounding angrier by the second. She found that she preferred it to the eerie whisper.

“Well, you can tell our hero that his efforts have been for nought. Apparently, the pardon did not include use of an Unforgivable against a ‘figure of the Light’. Accio.”

A ministry-sealed parchment came flying towards Snape and he handed it to her. It was brief. A trial was scheduled for one Severus Tobias Snape on the 15th of May, for use of an Unforgivable against Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement had been notified that, rather than being taken into custody, Snape was to spend the time awaiting his trial under house arrest at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Signed Philippa Crumble, prosecutor for the Wizengamot.

When Hermione opened her mouth, Snape spoke over her.

“As you can see, if you know how to read a calendar, at that point, there will be no Pensieve solution left in the Ministry stores to examine my memories, which is, I believe, my only hope for exoneration. I rather think that might serve as a handy excuse to let me get reacquainted with Azkaban.”

Hermione couldn’t hold back any longer.

“That would be all kinds of illegal! Firstly, there was no condition on that pardon, we checked with Kingsley beforehand. Secondly, they cannot try you without examining vital evidence that has been pointed out to them. Thirdly, Harry and Ron and I will testify for you, as will the Headmistress and all of the Order... What?”

Snape had shaken his head and turned away from her. There was an odd note in his voice when he replied, addressing the wall.

“You have so much faith in the good in this world. I tend to forget how young you are.”

Hermione did not know what made her do it. Maybe the tense line of his back was to blame. Whatever it was, it compelled her to come closer, and when she was nearly at his side, she stopped, and carefully took his left hand in both of hers, slowly opening the fingers that had clenched around a pestle, to put the item down on the table. Snape turned abruptly. His black eyes were very round and deep, like vortices, drawing her in. She looked on their clasped hands instead, as she replied.

“And you seem to forget that you are not alone in this world. We are going to stand by your side.”

Snape made a half-hearted motion to withdraw his hand, but did not force it away when she didn’t let up.

“I don’t understand,” he murmured.

Hermione discovered that it was quite possible to ache and smile at the same time.

“You don’t need to. Just accept it.”

And she surprised herself again when she lifted his hand to kiss his knuckles, before finally letting it go.

She turned, still avoiding his gaze. _Deep breath_.“Shall we start brewing, then?”

She wasn’t sure whether to be happy or disappointed when Snape complied silently.

Tonight’s potion reached the final stage, thanks to Snape’s ingenious addition of hazelnut oil. Hermione would have loved to come up with something herself, but her research had been fruitless. Did she dare break the silence to ask how on earth he had known that hazelnut oil of all things might be helpful? She had never seen that particular ingredient used in any potion, but it effectively kept the bristling nettles from reacting with the moonstone, while hopefully preserving their properties throughout the brewing.

 Unfortunately, the texture of the solution was more than slightly off now. It looked much too dense and vicious. Nevertheless, they carefully added it to the Pensieve Snape had ready on one of the curved shelves. The potion disappeared immediately. Hermione stared in shock for a second, before she made herself snap out of it.

When Snape started taking notes with a grim little smile, she began to cast spells on the stone basin. The scribbling stopped for a second, but took up again. Apparently, she had been deemed competent.

A few minutes later, she lowered her wand. He looked up.

“Anything?”

“Well, the stone keeps a passive memory of what makes it a functioning Pensieve. It can decide for itself what it needs...Oh, you knew that, of course.”

Snape had nodded a little impatiently.

“If I am reading correctly what I could access of the magical residue – the solution was too, well, ‘sticky’ for lack of a better word. The Pensieve seemed to...err... decide that, in its current state, the solution would not let the memories move freely. But all of that is an interpretation of very inconclusive spells, sir.”

He looked impressed anyway.

_Really, you approve of my foolish wand-waving, Mr. Snape?_ Hermione had to suppress a grin at the thought.

“Those were very specific spells, Miss Granger. Where did you learn about them, I wonder?”

Oh, well.

“I read up on Pensieves a few months ago, and might have gone slightly overboard in my research then.”

Snape smirked, but then nodded, immediately serious again.

“It seems I have you to thank for getting them back.”

So he had understood, and was grateful rather than furious. Of course, he might not have figured out yet that they had used his wand to extract the memories. But, as he wasn’t angry right now, that seemed the perfect moment to...

“Harry enlisted my help, sir, but it was really his idea.”

Snape made a sour face, which crunched up his sharp angles a little. It was weirdly endearing, Hermione caught herself thinking.

“You can cease that obvious attempt at manipulation, Granger. I’ll talk to him. Tell Mr. Potter to expect an invitation for tea shortly. I suppose I will need to speak with him about the trial in any case, if you are right about his willingness to speak up for me.”

Hermione nodded eagerly and was dismissed rather abruptly thereafter, before she could come up with a way to discuss the impending trial further. She did not leave empty-handed, however. Snape gave her a copy of his updated notes, for which she thanked him profusely, before bidding him good-night.

It was only when she was lying in bed a short while later, perusing the notes by the light of her wand, that she allowed herself to think about the evenings’ events: Snape being prosecuted by the ministry... his belief that he had to face the situation alone...her kissing his hand – Merlin, what had she been thinking? It had felt completely right in the moment, though, Hermione reflected, drifting off to sleep, her cheek resting on the increasingly wrinkled notes.

~---~

Severus sat at one of his workbenches, his face in his hands. For a long time, he stayed completely immobile. When he moved, it was to hold his hands slightly away from himself, and to bring the left one to his lips, letting them run lightly over the knuckles. He shuddered, remembering. Granger. He had completely and utterly underestimated the girl, thinking her predictable, annoying, foolish.

Well, foolish she was. What had she been thinking? Kissing his hand... But her whole behaviour this evening left him bewildered. So she wanted to defend him. Had faith in all those people being willing to do so, too. People he had antagonized for years, often gleefully, sometimes reluctantly, but always to the best of his ability.

A moment came back to him... making fun of a small girl’s teeth. How he had relished that, all the more for knowing so very well how much comments about one’s appearance could hurt a child.

Yet the young woman acted as if she had forgotten, as if there was something of worth in him, Severus Snape. Well, he supposed he had been nearly kind to her recently. If she, in turn, had decided to be kind to him, Severus knew he was utterly powerless to stop it. Even Albus, especially Albus, had never been kind without wanting something in return.

There had to be a catch. He was sure of it. And there it was – his bitterness had returned. Weirdly comforted by the feeling, Severus went to bed.


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some gossip about Harry and Ron, how to be supportive, and Severus at a loss but not uncertain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter taking place in the courtyard for a while. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, hope you like it!

Hermione sighed. The courtyard was empty yet again. No sign of Snape. She had been so sure that he would be there, after he’d had Harry over for tea last Sunday. Three days later, he still hadn’t showed up. And Harry, uncharacteristically, hadn’t told her much beyond “It went all right, I guess. He only yelled at me once or twice. At times, he was nearly nice.”

Harry had seemed calmly content, a look she couldn’t remember seeing on him, ever. She smiled a little, remembering Harry’s previous nervous delight at the invitation, to which Ron commented “You’re mental, mate.”

Ron... There was something that would definitely need some time to get used to. So deep in thought was she, that she only saw Snape when he was nearly in front of her, even though he was wearing his full robes today, and therefore cutting an imposing figure. He sat down next to her with a sigh.

Hermione went back to her thoughts about the Ron situation. She had recently realised that, judging from their interactions during the past weeks, the fastest way to get Snape to talk was to remain silent – as much as that went against her natural inclination, which was, of course, to ask as many questions as possible.

Silence reigned for a long time. Even with her own thoughts to occupy her, she was thinking of breaking it, when he finally spoke up.

“He is nothing like his father.”

Hermione half-turned towards him and raised her eyebrows, but didn’t comment verbally.

“It has always taken some self-deception on my part to make myself belief that he was, as much as I deemed that necessary at the time. But now he... how can he be so kind, having been raised by these horrible people, having had such hardship in his life?”

Snape sounded completely disconcerted. Hermione shrugged.

“That’s Harry for you.”

Feeling compelled to add something, even though she couldn’t really provide him with an explanation, she started musing out loud.

“You know, he went through a pretty terrible phase in fifth year. Completely understandable, with what was going on at the time, Umbridge and all, and the headmaster distancing himself, people saying he was insane, the dreams and guilt about Ce...Cedric, and Sirius so unhappy... oh, and puberty I suppose.”

Snape huffed.

“Do not forget to add ‘Occlumency lessons’ to that list. But you are rather proving my point – what was going on during that year alone should have proven too much for most people.”

Hermione knew she would sound fond when she replied.

“Oh, he is special, no doubt about it. Just not in the way people always seem to think. Harry’s not exceptionally powerful, magically. But he has an incredible determination about him and a sense of justice, without a hint of self-righteousness.”

 _Unlike me_ , she didn’t add. _I can be plenty self-righteous._

Snape nodded, though his face looked a little pinched at her praise of Harry.

“He insisted on testifying during the trial. Indeed he seems to believe that he might be able to shut it down completely before it has really started.”

He didn’t sound convinced.

“Don’t be so sceptical. I would think that’s indeed a possibility. Also, strange things are happening recently...strange to me, at any rate...”

Hermione trailed off, though she hoped he would bite. She suddenly felt certain it would be a relief to talk to Snape about some of the recent developments that were spinning around in her head. It startled her a little that she would think of Severus Snape as a friend, a confidant even.

Well, he had changed, she justified it to herself. Or maybe he hadn’t changed that much, but wasn’t conjuring smokescreens anymore. Oh, and he had been saying something to her. Concentrating, she found that she had actually heard, just not processed the words in the moment.

“Tell me,” he had said.

It suddenly seemed absurd to do just that. What would he care? But she had already started it...

“Ron is in a relationship with Aidan Bonfort-Grant now.”

Snape stared. Hermione couldn’t help but smile a little. “It is reassuring to see that you are as thrown by that as I was.”

He scowled at her. God, if she ever told anyone that Snape could look cute, they would have her certified insane in no time. With a loud sigh, she elaborated.

“I was informed that my ‘favourite’ Frenchman had been dared by some of his friends to go after me. So he put on quite the show for the guys watching in the shadows. Apparently, he was never interested in me. So your spell was a bit overkill, I guess. I’ll never know now if I used it correctly.”

That was possibly the thing that annoyed her most about the whole story. When Snape didn’t interrupt her, she continued,

“Ron says Aidan is gay. Apparently his mother recommended that he hide that fact. Purebloods can still be quite homophobic, I am told... As for how they actually got together, I can’t say. But Ron...”

She smiled a little, just a quick upturn of her lips.

“Trust Ron to come out to me by grinning at me sheepishly and saying: ‘I might be a tiny bit gay, ‘Mione.’”

There it was – Snape’s wonderful laugh. It startled her a little, but oh, how she already loved it. She had wondered whether she would hear it again.

Then, however, he frowned.

“Wait...You are not pining for that red-headed menace, I trust?”

He looked slightly nauseated at the thought. Now Hermione had to laugh as well.

“You can count yourself lucky that I am not. Otherwise, that would have been very insensitive, when you should be supportive of me in my ‘fragile state’. Sir.”

She didn’t know what possessed her to add the honorific at the end with a small grin. It suddenly occurred to her that Snape as she used to know him might have skinned anybody alive for talking to him like this. Currently, he looked merely uncomfortable. And his next words floored her.

“I do not think I ever knew how to be ‘supportive’. Years of keeping myself apart as much as possible from any meaningful relationship with the people around me certainly have not helped matters.”

She had thought a few weeks ago that he trusted her enough to relax a little in her presence. This was something else entirely.

Before she could think about it, Hermione found herself ordering,

“Sit still. Don’t move.”

Then she leaned a little into Snape, gradually resting her head on his shoulder. It was bony, but solid. Definitely something to lean onto. Supportive, in the literal sense of the term.

“There. That’s quite easy to do, don’t you think.”

He had tensed up at the touch and was now as still as a statue. Was he even breathing?

After what seemed like an eternity, he exhaled loudly and then, oh so slowly, moved his arm a little so that it lay across her back, his hand coming to rest on her waist. It trembled slightly when he laid it there. For a long while, they just sat quietly.

Then, Snape asked in a hoarse voice,

“If you are not pining for him, when have you stopped?”

It didn’t strike her as strange that he knew about her past attachment. As much as Snape often didn’t know how to interact in a non-adversarial fashion, he certainly understood people and their motivations very well.

It was a paradox, come to think of it. How he observed, but wasn’t able to replicate. Well. He had as much as admitted that he had kept his distance on purpose in the past. But what about the time in between the wars? It certainly seemed like he had never let his guard down even then...

She shook off those thoughts for the moment and answered his question.

“After the final battle, we fucked like rabbits.”

Snape actually flinched at hearing the profanity. _What the hell?_ Wasn’t she allowed to be crude when the situation she wanted to describe demanded it? She went on regardless.

“It was therapeutic. Very therapeutic even, it helped to forget for a while until it didn’t hurt so much anymore. But then we realised that it wasn’t much more than that. I mean, we love each other, but as friends. The sexual tension just vanished completely when we took the time to look at one another. I suppose much the same thing happened to Harry and Ginny.”

Snape moved abruptly and she reluctantly lifted her head from his shoulder. She rubbed her cheek absently where the bone had dug into it; then stopped herself. Snape was looking at her, eyebrows raised; too absorbed by their discussion to notice the gesture.

“Are you telling me that Potter and Ginevra Weasley have split up?”

“Oh, you didn’t know that? Harry’s not with Ginny anymore. There might be something going on with Luna though.”

She had the absurd impression of gossiping with a female friend for a second. Then Snape’s response made her forget about that comparison.

“Thank Merlin, the boy has grown out of his Oedipal complex. Don’t look at me like that, Granger. I’m quite sure you have thought about this, too, and probably in those terms as well.”

Hermione knew she was blushing.

“Maybe.”

He grinned at her again; his crooked-teeth grin. She forced her eyes away from his mouth. There was nothing for it – she should leave now, before she did something that would not have the relative ambiguity of a hug. He was still her professor, even if she tended to forget about that when they were together like this. Besides, there was no telling how he would react to what she wanted to do to him right this moment. She stood.

“You know, I actually really should go back to revising. I’m meeting the boys for a study group in the library.”

In an hour, but Snape didn’t have to know that. He had remained seated and was looking up at her, a carefully closed off look. That wouldn’t do. She bent down, gave him a quick peck on the cheek and said quietly,

“Thank you for listening to me go on about my crazy friends. I’ll see you Friday, then.”

And she fled. This time, he made no move to stop her.

~---~

Severus watched her disappear, her wild curls shining in the sunlight, leaving a light afterimage to dance in front of his eyes. He felt at sea; there was nothing here to cling to, nothing that was familiar. Oh, but how marvellous it was to have someone at your side, someone to hold. He had been right, there was no way he could resist this.

And truly, he did not want to, either. He should never have allowed her such liberties and could possibly run into difficulties for being so close to a student, but compared to all the things he had seen and done in the war, this kind of breach of the rules seemed a ridiculous trifle.

Severus had learned early on to fear the consequences of his actions and he had never been free of that fear since; carefully reflecting each and every move, holding back constantly. But in this, in this he felt certain that there was only good, only right, even if it scared him that he did not understand it. Though, right at this moment, certain he was, so the consequences could be damned.


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What constitutes a crush, an ancient curse, and trial strategies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long one - hope you won't find it too slow-moving or boring.
> 
> Posting early today because of RL, but I think I'll be able to keep to my schedule during the next days, at least more or less.

Eight days later, Hermione finally admitted to herself that Snape was avoiding her. She had not seen him out of class (a note had cancelled their brewing session on Friday – _‘Unfortunately otherwise engaged, S.’_ ). He was never in the courtyard, had not even been at meals in the Great Hall for most of the last week. They had not exchanged a word. And though his absence made her realise how ridiculously fast she had become attached to him, that realisation did nothing to soothe the sting of being so easily abandoned again.

She commiserated with Harry, who, without Ron, was sporting a little of the ‘lost puppy’-look himself. The boys had been nearly inseparable for a while after their respective breakups, but Ron now disappeared for hours with Aidan, of course – always with a stupid grin on his face. She was starting to find that situation amusing rather than disconcerting. Right now, however, it was the furthest thing from her mind.

“I can’t explain it, really,” Hermione was saying as they stepped out of the main entrance, Harry broom in hand and her carrying a book (what else).

“I really don’t know, Harry. There is nothing weird about seeing him as a friend when we are alone together. It’s as if he leaves most of the spite and inapproachability behind in those moments. You know... the last time I left kind of abruptly because I had completely forgotten that I was with a teacher, and even when I remembered I still kissed him – on the _cheek_ Harry, yes, I know, I know, even so, but what I’m trying to tell you is that...well, you know, that...”

“...that you have a crush on Snape, of all people?”

Harry was looking at her solemnly.

“It’s not a crush, Harry!”

Hermione replied without thinking and then realised how that might have sounded – and how it felt, too. No, indeed, this was not a crush. With Victor, with Ron and even for the brief period during which she had tried to convince herself that she hated boys anyway and might be feeling something for Padma, Hermione had always self-analysed excessively, listened after every pang and stutter of her heart, constantly wondering if this was love, if this was how she was supposed to feel; and how would she know when it was right?

Now, such behaviour struck her as childish. Thinking about what she felt for Snape seemed almost sacrilegious; she shied away from it – it had come so lightly, quietly, as well as completely unprompted. It had made her smile and hide it away.

Or maybe she was just deluding herself because she did not want to admit to feelings for Snape – for when she did, she would have to think about the consequences that might bring.

They had reached the empty Quidditch field. Harry had stopped and was now looking at her, expression more solemn than ever.

“Listen, I don’t think that it’s wrong or something, whatever you feel for him. And from what you’ve told me you might know more about what you’re doing than he is, as strange as that may sound. It’s just... be careful, right, with the trial and everything and how people feel about him already...”

Hermione had to smile.

“Harry, are you worried about Snape?”

Harry grinned a bit sheepishly.

“Maybe I am. And maybe you should be, too, all right? Whatever is going on there with you two, normal isn’t what I’d call it, yeah?”

She nodded. There was no way to dispute that. Harry looked at her for a few moments longer, and then mounted his broom. Before he took off, he reiterated, “Just be careful.”

“It’s not as if it matters right now, anyway. Snape is avoiding me, remember?” Hermione replied, but Harry was already gone, quickly becoming a small dot in the sky.

“I am not avoiding you, Granger,” a silkily rough voice said close to her ear.

Hermione startled very badly, and managed only just to hold off on the shriek that tried to wrench free. As she turned around, she was already feeling a strong red flush spread over her face. She had no illusions that the evening light would hide it. Snape, inexplicably, was smirking at her. How much had he heard, oh dear Godric, how much?

Snape sighed.

“Don’t stare at me like that, Granger. Such a guilty Iook... I might be tempted to prey out of your head where it is coming from...”

Hermione let her eyes fall to the ground. She had rarely felt so relieved. He couldn’t have heard very much – or at least not the crush part, thank all the wizards in post-existence and all the ghosts, too. Then she frowned and looked up again. Something had not sounded right. Now that she was able to push away her embarrassment, she saw it immediately. He looked utterly exhausted.

“What happened?”

Snape made a vague gesture towards the stands and took himself over to the first row of wooden benches, to fall down heavily on it. Hermione marvelled that he didn’t flinch when his backside hit the hard wood, but discovered a strong cushioning charm when she sat down next to him. He must have cast it wordlessly. As he started to talk, Snape followed the speck of black that was Harry with his eyes.

“Narcissa Malfoy was hit by a curse.”

Although he spoke in low tones, his deep voice rang out over the empty field. He reduced it to a near whisper.

“An ancient curse; sometimes known as ‘the Kingmaker’.”

Hermione had read of it, naturally. It had been used extensively during the Middle Ages, and was named thusly because it had been invented by an aspirant to some throne or other (Ethan the Excessively Ugly, to be precise. Her brain remembered these things.). The curse created a strong desire in everyone but the caster to kill the unfortunate person that had been hit by it, therefore leaving the dirty work to others, and the seemingly blameless caster ready to ascend the vacated throne.

“She was very lucky to be in the right company when it first manifested itself. Alone but for a house elf, who started punishing himself loudly because of what he wanted to do to her. She quarantined herself immediately, forbade her elves to enter and fire-called me. And I could not go to her, because of the house-arrest and that fucking trace they placed on me!”

She had rarely seen him this angry; it appeared that only the exhaustion was keeping his anger at bay. For all his insulting ways, he rarely cursed, she realised. But in this instance, there was power behind the words. Injustice was something that he clearly felt strongly about. From what she knew about his life, that sentiment must have complicated matters for him more than once.

He continued.

“It was no use sending someone else; one has to occlude extensively in order to gain enough time for casting the counter-curse. Otherwise, there is a danger of falling prey to it and turning the counter-curse into a Death curse halfway through, as you might know. So I had to ask Minerva to intervene at the Ministry on my behalf again.”

Snape didn’t look happy about that.  

“Then, while we were waiting for that to hopefully go through, the foolish woman went and wrote to Draco about the situation and he wanted to see her of course – and nearly killed her, before she stunned him. So what did she do? She forced open the floo connection and sent the disturbed boy through to let me deal with him – because I am so very well known for my comforting qualities, I suppose!”

He’d gotten louder and louder and visibly reigned himself in now.

“The ministry subsequently saw fit to send some idiot to interrogate me and it took them two whole days before they conceded that they couldn’t help her. Then they insisted on sending someone with me, though how they justified to themselves such touching concern for a Death Eater’s wife and simultaneous mistrust in a former Death Eater, I cannot fathom. It must be because Potter told everyone she saved him; that seems to have worked better for her than for me. No doubt a pretty face does wonders even on these occasions.”

He had rarely sounded so bitter. Even so, she heard in every word that he had been very worried about Draco’s Mother. The situation wouldn’t have annoyed him half as much otherwise.

“Well, I fought with them over this new lunacy for a day – sending someone with me, indeed! – but they wouldn’t budge. That, of course, resulted in me stunning an Auror when he inevitably attacked Narcissa while I was casting the counter-curse. So they found good reason to take me in for questioning afterwards. Astonishingly enough, they released me yesterday morning. Just in time to resume my classes after the weekend, as well. Oh, and also in time to stop Draco from doing himself bodily harm, which in turn left me to spend the better part of the evening convincing him that he would not kill his mother on sight when he went back. And because all of this had not been enough, when I had seen him off to visit ‘Cissa this morning, another moron from the ministry came to investigate illegal floo traffic into Hogwarts...”

He trailed off and let his head fall into his hands, his body hunched over, shoulder blades sticking out; his form devoid of its usual elegance. Like a scarecrow after a storm, Hermione thought. A bit shocked at herself for that rather unkind comparison, she shook her head to throw off the thought, and then very carefully and slowly laid a hand between those pointy shoulder blades. He flinched away at first, though his body went limp when she left the hand where it was. A small sound escaped from his lips as she started to draw circles on his back.

“Is that all?” she whispered.

“No.”

His voice was barely audible now.

“They rescheduled the trial to next week. Thursday.”

_Next week?_

“Why?”

“I can only guess. Maybe it is because I reminded them how dangerous I can be.”

Hermione stopped her soothing motions, shocked into immobility.

“You saved a woman’s life!”

“And used an obscure so-called ‘dark’ counter-curse, as well as an emotion-disassociation technique that nobody else in Britain has mastered to this extent. Why wouldn’t they sprinkle a little elf dust in order to get rid of me?”

“Elf dust?”

Hermione was confused.

“It means that they try to twist the situation to their own liking, more or less. Not up to date on your wizarding expressions, Granger?”

Snape sneered, though it was more half-hearted than ever. Hermione ignored the jibe.

“Does Mrs. Malfoy know who cursed her?”

He mutely signalled no, but then elaborated.

“I suspect Richardson. He hasn’t been captured yet and it is the sort of thing he would find amusing.”

He looked sickened by the very thought. How had he been able to hide this kind of reaction so completely when he had been among Death Eaters?, Hermione wondered. And hadn’t everybody always described him as fascinated by the Dark Arts? When had that changed? He certainly didn’t look fascinated...

A movement in the corner of her eye interrupted her thoughts. Hermione snatched away her hand as Harry zoomed towards them. For an unguarded fraction of a second, Snape looked hurt, so she put the hand back where it had been. He shook it of this time, hissing,

“What are you doing?”

Then Harry landed in front of them and Snape straightened into a Potions-Master-posture.

“Potter.”

“Professor.”

Hermione giggled. The corners of Snape’s mouth twitched nearly imperceptibly as he said, “What, Granger?” without turning his gaze from Harry, whose mouth fell open when Hermione replied,

“You two are ridiculous. Harry, come, sit down here next to me, there’s a wonderful cushioning charm on these benches tonight. And you –,” she smiled at Snape, “stop pretending that you aren’t exhausted. You can’t be comfortable sitting ramrod straight like that. While we’re all here, we should talk about the trial.”

Harry stared for a second longer, waiting for an explosion that didn’t come, then plopped himself down on the bench and instantly slouched so much that Snape gave up holding himself quite so rigidly, though he was still scowling. Hermione inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn’t been at all certain that he would let her talk to him in that manner in front of Harry.

She leaned back a little while Snape summed up briefly what he had told her, in order to explain to Harry why he thought the ministry was moving faster now. He spoke much more formally than she had become used to from him. When he had finished, Harry nodded and turned towards her.

“Can they do that? Simply change the date, I mean?”

_Good question, Harry._

“One week’s notice is enough, if I remember correctly. But the procedural rights are pretty confusing and not up to Muggle standards anyway, we shouldn’t count on those.”

She heard Snape make a scoffing noise and turned around. Sitting in a line was not ideal for this... without stopping to think about it, she conjured a simple chair and sat herself down on it so that she could face Snape and Harry. They looked decidedly uncomfortable next to each other, without her as a puffer between them.

“Yes, Muggle standards,” she said to Snape, and tried to explain.

“They are much clearer and often stricter than those weird wizarding ‘laws and customs’. But that could work to our advantage, too. We might be able to introduce evidence as late as the day of the proceedings – that would never be admissible in a Muggle court.”

Snape looked sceptical, but didn’t dispute her assessment of wizarding law. Instead, he asked,

“What sort of evidence would that be? The memories are all I have, and they will not be able to examine them. I would not be willing to subject myself to Legilimency. And even if I was, I would not necessarily be able to stop occluding. It has become an automatism that I do not always control consciously.”

When Harry spoke up, Snape turned towards him so quickly that Hermione was sure he had momentarily forgotten that Harry was even there. Harry’s question, about the dangers of occluding unconsciously, was met with an angry bark.

“As touching as your concern for my health might be, Potter, that is not the subject we are discussing at this instant...”

“Evidence,” Hermione interrupted his burgeoning tirade. “I thought of asking them to admit as evidence an empty portrait frame.”

Harry got it a second before Snape and grinned.

“That’s brilliant, Hermione.”

Snape, probably disgruntled at being slower than his formerly most hated pupil (whom he had always disparaged for his supposed lack of intelligence), murmured under his breath,

 “I assume that’s a standard phrase of yours, to be employed at all times when intellectual capability is needed?”

He ignored Harry’s “hey!” and added with a small smirk,

“Though in this instance I have to admit that the idea is indeed quite brilliant, Miss Granger. It might just work.”

Hermione bit her lip to avoid laughing out loud. At Snape’s side, Harry’s eyes were bulging again.

They talked about the details of the idea for a while and decided that Snape should be the one to inform the former headmaster’s portrait about the endeavour. When Snape looked like he was about to make move to leave, Hermione quickly tried to fit in everything else she had wanted to tell him for the last week or so.

“Well, professor, I am also still researching their right to even put you on trial for something you had been officially pardoned for – as I said, wizarding procedural rights are pretty dodgy, but I’m sure there must be something. See, you could never be held accountable for the same offense twice in a Muggle court – I’ve already written to Kingsley about reforming this ridiculous system. Oh, he finds the whole thing as irritating as we do, by the way, says he unfortunately can’t stop the Wizengamot if they don’t want to listen to him... what?”

Snape and Harry had exchanged a nearly conspiratorial look, and wasn’t that weird to see?

“You are babbling again, Granger.”

_Really, you two?_

“This is important!”

Snape sighed.

“Maybe so, but you will have to tell me tomorrow. I have unlearned astonishingly quickly how to function with a sleep-deficit, now that there’s not a war going on anymore.”

Oh, right. He had been exhausted to start with.

He stood.

“If you insist, we should be able to continue this discussion on Friday. Bring Potter along to the brewing, if you must. As long as he doesn’t touch anything, that is.”

With a last, only slightly disdainful look at an eye-rolling Harry, he turned, threw a “goodnight” over his shoulder and was gone in a swirl of black cloth.

Harry still looked pretty flummoxed.

“Wow. He really is different with you, I guess.”

Hermione smiled.

“And I for my part had nearly forgotten quite how rude he can be.”

Harry eyed her accusingly.

“I think you like it when he does that!”

She didn’t deny it, what was the use? Harry seemed to find it rather funny, anyway. They were already giggling when they ran into Ron and Aidan, snogging in the bushes close to the main entrance.

When Harry and Hermione discovered that their best friend could indeed blush even redder than his hair, the giggles blossomed into full-blown laughter. Ron joined in (after he had calmed down a slightly miffed Aidan), and they walked the last steps to the castle doors together, laughter ringing out into the night. For the first time, Hermione felt like the war was truly over.

~---~

Severus woke up that night with a start.

Being as tired as he was, one would think it should be possible to sleep through the night. But no, there had been a nightmare. He rarely remembered details from his dreams, and had always been grateful for it over the years, but this time, it made him uneasy. He knew the dream had been about her, that she had come to harm in it.

Severus chided himself for wanting to remember what was probably an absurd story concocted by his overactive unconscious mind, a story that would only be useful on the off-chance that he had suddenly become a prophetic dreamer and could prevent whatever had occurred in his dream, whatever might still occur in reality.

_You are pathetic_ , he told himself firmly. Even aside from your luck with prophecies, next week you could be in Azkaban and the main thing you groundlessly worry about is the well-being of a young woman who cannot possibly care about you as much as she sometimes appears to do. (For when had anybody, ever, really?)

_A young woman who will leave Hogwarts in about two months, anyway, and who will forget all about you._ Oh, but he wouldn’t think about that now. If the trial went well, two months were a long time away. In the meantime she was speaking to him, smiling at him, drawing circles on his back... when Severus slipped away to sleep this time, better dreams awaited him.


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A cryptic comment about hair, Snape's feelings about McGonagall, and more trial preparations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second part of that evening in tomorrow's chapter, and then a bit more plot for the next chapters. Hope there aren't too many spelling or other mistakes left, I always reread again before posting, but tonight I'm bone-tired...

Hermione spent Thursday in the library, not studying for her NEWTs. She couldn’t quite bring herself to feel guilty about that. The idea she had been working on since she’d last brewed with Snape was slowly taking form – too slowly. It had to be ready tomorrow, she had decided.

Strangely enough, Ginny had unknowingly given her the idea. Ginny and her mother’s cookbook. The youngest Weasley had been annoyed at receiving it via owl post, as she suspected (probably rightly so) that this was Molly’s way of giving a broad hint (that she would prefer Ginny to marry and have kids instead of trying out for Quidditch teams, presumably. Or maybe just that she thought Ginny needed to learn how to cook).

Well, Ginny had shown her the book and one of its most useful features – one could give it a list of ingredients one wanted to combine and the book was enchanted to tell what could go with what, or what should definitely not be put together in the same dish. _Quite brilliant, really._ Hermione smiled when she remembered hearing those exact words from Snape about one of her own ideas. She was not above a little vanity where her mind was concerned. If someone commented positively on her looks, however, she just felt embarrassed.

She shook her head slightly and went back to her work – information extraction spells were boring, but came in incredibly handy in so many situations. She wished she had known about them sooner. They could be tricky, but Hermione still thought those spells should be taught to the younger students. Well, maybe the professors were worried about indiscriminate copying.

She waved her wand and cast wordlessly (not the simplest of tasks with this spell, but ‘no talking in the library’, of course). Another thick tome on Herbology gave up all its secrets to her. Letters and numbers danced in front of her eyes for an instance, before she let them settle into a small flat disc on the table, which absorbed them like a sponge. She got up to get the next book.

 

When she entered the workroom the next day, she had the device with her in her pocket. The test results had seemed plausible. She still wondered if there would be some insurmountable obstacle that she hadn’t thought of yet. Surely, if it were possible, somebody should have had this idea before her?

Snape looked up from one of his cauldrons (a basic healing potion, if she was not mistaken), his only greeting a sneered “Where’s Potter?”

Hermione hit him with a wide smile. He appeared mostly immune, although his scowl lessened infinitesimally.

“Good evening to you too. The headmistress wanted to talk to him. He’ll be here in a minute.”

Snape went back to his cauldron and Hermione went back to watching him. His hair was a little...fluffy today. No other word for it. It fell around his head in soft waves. She forced herself to look at this evening’s changes to the recipe, already on the board, before he could catch her staring.

But a few minutes later, when she had begun chopping and measuring ingredients, while he was still leaning over the other cauldron, she was again mesmerized by his hair, now growing decidedly lank and shiny under the influence of the potion fumes. He must have heard her knife work stop, because he looked up, followed her look and sneered. Again.

“You are staring. Pray tell, is there something more detestable than usual about my looks?”

Hermione flinched and shook her head.

“I told you, I don’t... It’s just that I wish my hair would do that.”

He only graced her with an irritated frown, so she went on.

“The fumes make it straighten out. Mine just fizzles and grows even more unmanageable.”

Snape looked at her seriously, his face carefully neutral now.

“Please don’t ever change your hair.”

Oh. Where had that come from?

“Why?”

Still that serious look; now combined with the slight upturn of the corners of his mouth.

“It anchors you in the here and now.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Before she could decide whether to ask, there was a knock on the door. Harry.

“Enter.”

Snape’s voice rang through the room.

Harry stuck his head in.

“Can I come in? Really?”

Snape, wonder of wonders, smiled slightly instead of being irritated. Apparently, he was finally allowing himself to notice that, for the most part, Harry was nice, sincere and a little insecure. Only very rarely was he even remotely as arrogant as Snape had once made him out to be. Killing Voldemort had actually changed very little about that.

“You may,” Snape replied calmly.

Hermione got to witness what she must have looked like when she saw the room for the first time. The awe on Harry’s face was almost comical. Then he seemed to force himself to snap out of it, as he launched into an explanation of what the headmistress had wanted.

Apparently, Snape had recently talked to Dumbledore’s portrait, but not to Minerva McGonagall, who, perhaps understandably, was annoyed to be completely out of the loop. Somehow, she had heard that her Potions master had met with Harry, and so it had fallen to him to tell her what had actually been going on after McGonagall had negotiated for Snape to go to Malfoy Manor. Hermione was amazed she hadn’t interrogated the man himself about it – and much earlier than today, at that.

She looked at Snape. He was avoiding eye contact. _Really? What is going on, my dear Master Occlumens?_

“So when I’d brought her up to date, she said she would be at the hearing next week. That she would inform the Order, and that I should tell you about it, sir...”

Harry’s words gradually came to a halt. He sounded as confused by the whole thing as she was.

Snape had started decanting his healing potion. He was still not looking at either of them when he commented quietly,

“I cannot trust her anymore. It is not that I do not want to, and during the war I wouldn’t have allowed myself to indulge in such behaviour towards... an ally. But now that it is possible to treat her with scorn, I find that I cannot stop myself.”

Harry had a wide-eyed look about him, and she shook her head to indicate that he should stay silent.

“It is because of that last year. When we weren’t here.”

She didn’t bother phrasing it as a question. Snape nodded; eyes on the potion bottles. When he looked up, his sharp gaze fell on Harry. He seemed to come to a decision and went to the door.

“Come with me,” was all he said. Hermione left the half-prepared ingredients as they were. She hadn’t started on anything yet that would not keep in its current form for a while. They went through the storeroom, back into the classroom, and through the third door, between storeroom and entrance; the one to Snape’s office. He gestured at a threadbare couch in one corner.

“Sit.”

Harry and Hermione obeyed. Snape leaned against his desk. She wondered idly how many homesick Slytherin first years had sat on this couch in the nearly two decades that Snape had taught at Hogwarts. Then again, Slughorn had taken over those rooms for a while – but no, the place was Snape’s completely.

The wooden furniture was dark and worn – very old, but beautiful. There were torches on the wall, books on every shelf, as well as strange ingredient jars, a large fireplace, and, oddly, a mirror where a window would have been in an above-ground room; mostly hidden behind a bordeaux-coloured curtain. It, like the slightly out of place sofa which was made of something bearing a remote resemblance to chintz (green with rosé flowers maybe?), was a bit dusty. A rare occurrence, in a castle full of house elves. From Harry’s curious looks, she inferred that he had never been here, either. Hadn’t Occlumency lessons taken place here? Maybe the age-old look was deceiving, and it had changed since then?

Meanwhile, Snape was making tea by tapping his wand on a kettle he’d taken from the mantelpiece. He put some leaves from a jar into the now steaming water. Hermione, who, in keeping with the room, had expected fine but slightly battered china, was surprised by the mugs – thick, brown pottery.

The tea was heavenly. Well, he was a master brewer after all. They sipped in silence, whilst Snape kept looking at them strangely. Maybe he was wondering what in Merlin’s name had possessed him to invite two thirds of the ‘Golden Trio’ into his office.

At length, he cleared his throat.

“We will speak about the trial and I will try to answer any questions as openly as I am able. Minerva... the headmistress, if she asks you, will get the facts afterwards, and only the facts, is that clear?”

This was said to Harry. Apparently, she did not need the reminder, even if Snape had to know about her good rapport with the headmistress. She still didn’t understand why he trusted her so much, though it sure felt wonderful.

“I am not convinced it would do more good than harm to have the whole Order show up at the trial. A show of force, certainly, but we must not forget that the Ministry might feel threatened by exactly that. Minerva will contradict me on this, I’m certain, but she will accept my decision.”

Snape looked slightly uncomfortable at the idea of being able to override the headmistress’ decisions, Hermione thought.

“She is so apologetic now, and apparently ready to do everything for me without daring to ask much in return. “

Oh, wow. She hadn’t expected an explanation, and certainly not such a frank one. He hesitated again, so Hermione prompted him.

“Why do you think that is?”

Yes, he was definitely uncomfortable with this.

“As I see it, Minerva wilfully blinded herself to what was going on. She was spiteful, confrontational. However, she never tried to kill me, so deep down, she had to have known that the way I was using my position was not as horrible as it could have been, that I was, in fact, the lesser of many evils. That, of course, is a hollow justification for what I had to do, even if it is certainly a fact. What I cannot easily forgive about her behaviour last year is how difficult she made my life when I was under considerable strain already.”

He added abruptly, “I think that is enough about this. Albus’ portrait has generously agreed to testify on my behalf. I will suggest some members of the Order – you two will be present, I’m sure, not that I believe that I could stop you.”

Harry grinned and Hermione just looked at him fiercely. He turned his eyes to the floor.

“I will not take a lawyer. None of them would represent me gladly. If you wish to do so, I will let you speak for me, Miss Granger.”

Hermione stared at him in shock, but found the words to say she would be honoured. Not knowing how to react, she rattled off all the things she would bring forth to make the Wizengamot annul the trial.

Snape nodded when she finally came to a halt.

“If you slow down enough to let them make out individual words, I believe you shall do just fine.”

She would have been insulted by that not so very long ago, she thought. Now she just smiled and he smiled with her.

Harry reminded them of his presence by clearing his throat.

“I don’t think I have much to add to that. It would be good for us to arrive together, I think. And I’ll prepare a statement, of course.”

Snape looked suitably impressed by Harry Potter planning something in advance, though he didn’t voice it. His “Thank you, Mr. Potter” actually sounded grateful rather than sarcastic.

Nevertheless, some kind of tension seemed to leave him when Harry left a short while later. By unspoken agreement, they magicked their tea mugs clean and went back to the workroom.

~---~

Severus looked at the back of the slender figure that preceded him into the workroom. She wasn’t wearing robes – only jeans and a light pullover. Weirdly, her back made her look younger. From behind, she could be mistaken for the girl she no longer was. It had to be her face that made her look so grown-up, then, which wasn’t all that surprising, given what she must have gone through during that last year of the war.

He suddenly remembered that, when the Dark Lord had sent some Death Eaters to seek out her parents after the Trio had disappeared, the Grangers had been gone. Severus had suffered the _Cruciatus_ that evening, being as he was in the unfortunate position of a spy, who should have known about them planning to go into hiding, and subsequently told his Lord, even if logically, he couldn’t have known, as it had been months since he had fled Hogwarts. Or maybe it had just been that he was standing closest to his master at the moment the Dark Lord had heard the news. Severus had endured the pain with the quiet satisfaction of knowing that two innocent people were alive somewhere, and had wondered how Granger had convinced them to leave.

 _How have I not asked her about them?_ , Severus thought.

 _You would never even have considered it not so long ago_ , he answered his own question. Well, he would do so now. However, he soon forgot all about it when they reached his laboratory and Hermione started to talk again.


	9. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione's invention, Professor Flitwick's favorite sentence in Ron's words, and what Severus deems eighteenth century manners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading (and for all the Kudos)! I hope I don't go on too much about Hermione's invention, but I really liked the idea ;-)

Hermione was excited, which always manifested itself in a waterfall of words. She had kept the surprise to herself when they had been waiting for Harry, but now, she couldn’t possibly wait any longer. As the door fell closed, she began.

“I assume that you have several recipe changes lined up still?”

Snape nodded.

“I have something that might help with theorising the best combinations. Or at least excluding the unworkable ones, that is. We’ll have to see how much use it actually is. I developed it myself, so I’m not sure it will work perfectly, but it should at least... help.”

Snape held up a hand at this point to stop her from blithering on. She was rather thankful for that.

“Don’t tell me you have started experimenting with potions?” he asked, a fine smile playing on his lips. Hermione wondered if his smiles might one day outnumber his sneers. Well, she could certainly work towards that goal.

“It’s not potions so much as more of that ‘foolish wand-waving’ I am so fond of.”

His eyebrow-raised-look, expecting and sceptical at the same time, made her feel like a nervous student again.

“Right, then. Do you know what a computer is?”

Snape surprised her by saying, “Yes, I use one on occasion.”

That made things considerably easier.

“Oh, good. Where?”

Not that it was any of her business.

“My parents’ home has electricity. I bought the thing several years ago, so it’s not the newest model, but I am familiar with the basics.”

What was he using a computer for? And at ‘his parents’ home’?

“So you... visit your parents regularly?”

Huh. Not a good question, judging by the look she got. An angry sadness paired with what might have been mistrust.

“No.”

Well, what was she to think when he didn’t call it _his_ home? Were they dead, then, and he had inherited the house? She decided that further questions were not advisable at this instant and soldiered on.

“This is actually much easier than a computer, so that should all be fine. I just used some of the same principles. Mimicked them with magic, really. I don’t think technology would actually work at Hogwarts.”

She pulled the disc out of the back pocket of her jeans. It was about the size of the palm of her hand.

“So, I have interwoven several information containment spells and structuring spells on this disc. I could have used any other shape as well, of course.”

The decorative stone disc had been dragging around in her bottomless handbag for quite a while now. It had sat on her parents’ mantelpiece once, and she was frankly happy to be rid of it. She didn’t like looking at it anymore; it reminded her of a home that she would no longer come back to. Fortunately for her purposes, blue goldstone was also a good magical conduit.

“I have created some information organising spells a while back – there weren’t any good ones I could find, so I adapted a few of the common shelving spells everybody uses for objects. Then I pulled into that disc all the knowledge on potions ingredients I could find in the library.”

Snape was looking at her as if he had questions, but was holding himself back. He made a slight upwards movement with his head. ‘Go on’, it said.

“The really tricky part was the Arithmancy. My goal was to end up with a matrix that could not only tell me the interactions between one or two ingredients but, in principle, all the ingredients in all their different forms. Which means that, quite aside from that enormous number of combinations, I had to take into consideration altered reactions of already combined ingredients with newly introduced ones, as well. That had to be achieved by drawing the data from the existing potions recipes and instructions and incorporating it, with every last little side note on ingredient reactions I could find.”

Snape was staring at her now. She couldn’t quite make out whether he thought her crazy or whether he was amazed by the whole idea.

“Luckily, with magic, there is in principle no limit on calculating power. But, and I’m sure this is Professor Flitwick’s favourite sentence: ‘The Halloway -Worthington principle states that, if you overtax spells and charms, unpredictable results may occur’, or, as Ron likes to put it ‘they tend to go wonky’.”

At that, he rolled his eyes, but grinned at her at the same time, and Hermione grinned back happily, before going back to lecture mode.

“So I decided to accept a limit of forty ingredients for the time being. _Wolfsbane_ and _Felix Felicis_ both have thirty-two to thirty-five, depending on the recipes, and they’re the most complex potions in use today, ingredients-wise. Correct me if I’m wrong, sir.”

Huh. She hadn’t called him ‘sir’ out of class in quite a while. Must be the exam-situation-feel this was giving her.

“What I finally arrived at is this matrix you can pull up anywhere, if you put the disc on a piece of parchment, for example.”

With a flick of her wand, a simple grid appeared on the parchment Snape put down for her on one of the workbenches.

“See, you enter the recipe name here – “, she chose ‘Potions solution (Snape version)’ from a flickering list, “the ‘program’ automatically pulls up all the ingredients currently used and then you can try substituting some of them – and it gives you warnings in this little box here if it thinks what you’re changing will alter the functionality of the potion. It also hypothesises about what changes might occur.”

Snape’s eyes were fixed on the matrix in front of him. In an instant, he had pulled out his wand and made a completely nonsensical change, which brought up a list of dire warnings immediately. He studied them carefully and nodded.

Finally he looked up, awe in his eyes. Hermione was suddenly glad she had never received such a look before, all the times she had been trying for his appreciation in class. It was a little frightening even now. She felt the need to relativise.

“It only works with existing recipes, though, and you can’t change more than four or five ingredients at a time, otherwise it...”

“...goes wonky,” Snape solemnly finished for her, which made her wish for a second that Ron was there to witness this side of the man. It somehow seemed important that Snape got on with her friends.

The man in question was already turning back to the matrix, pulling up this and that potion, adding and subtracting herbs and stones, animal and magical creature components, sometimes shaking his head. Hermione showed him how to pull up the underlying information and make changes to it, when the results indicated that it had to be faulty or incomplete.

“I couldn’t check for erroneous data, really, there is too much of it in there to do that. But I made it recognise automatically what the most common postulation among the different authors is, or if there are claims at some point in the literature that are subsequently backed up in other sources. Oh, and there’s a reliability ranking for the sources, you find that here... you might want to make some changes to it.”

She scrolled through the information with her wand, making the parchment blurry until the writing steadied again when she had found what she was looking for. Snape was soon completely engrossed. Hermione decided to continue the ingredient preparations for the Potions solution.

Quite a while later, Snape joined her; bringing disc and parchment with him. Face inscrutable, he demanded,

“Do you ever sleep, Granger? When on earth did you have time for this, on top of the research for my bloody trial and preparation for your NEWTs?”

Hermione couldn’t hold back a proud smile, even as she tried for nonchalance in her reply.

“Well, I’m a little behind on my NEWTs revision, as it happens.”

Snape rolled his eyes again, but the look he gave her was rather fond.

“You are insane... as all true geniuses are, I have been told.”

She inhaled sharply. Her eyes had gone very round, she knew.

Snape huffed.

“Don’t let it go to your head, Granger. The thing might still turn out useless after a bit of further testing. I believe that, in that case, you would not like to deal with my disappointment after you dangled this almost-panacea in front of me.”

He rather ruined the threat by telling her that they would make an additional change in this evening’s recipe, the matrix having alerted him to an unforeseen complication that was likely to occur, but was easily prevented.

The rest of the evening passed in a strange kind of blur. It might just be that she was rather unaccustomed to simple happiness these days, Hermione thought as they worked together nearly seamlessly – and got pretty promising results that were well worth the effort, although the Pensieve still rejected their offering. They had started the brewing much later than usual, of course, so it was way past midnight when they finished.

Trotting up the stairs, Hermione yawned and tried to hide it from Snape, who had insisted on accompanying her up to the common room. She had refrained from pointing out that the only teacher who might actually dock points because Hermione Granger, war hero, was out after curfew, was currently walking beside her.

When she had bid him goodnight and was turning towards the portrait entrance, a quiet “Granger” made her stop and turn around. He was standing directly in front of her, avoiding her gaze. Then he captured her right hand in both of his, bowed low, and placed a kiss on the back of it.

In a flurry of robes, he was gone. Hermione just stood there for a moment, until the Fat Lady giggled.

“My, my, what a charming young gentleman you have there, dear.”

Hermione’s only reply was a clearly enunciated ‘ _Lux ex tenebris’_. The portrait obediently swung to its side to let her pass.

~---~

On his way back down the stairs, Severus Snape shook his head in frustration. What had he done?  He was sure he had never been able to pull off, ‘gallant’. No, awkward was what he had been when he first tried his hand at interacting with somebody he admired, and awkward he had stayed.

Well, there hadn’t precisely been many occasions since that first one, if you didn’t count the odd information gathering amongst fellow Death Eaters or other contacts (male or female). Severus decidedly did not count those occasions – for the most part he hadn’t much liked any of the people in question, and that had certainly made it much easier to act with confidence.

Hermione Granger, though, was a different matter. He was not sure if he had ever felt this kind of affection for anyone. Oh, he had loved, everybody knew that now. An unfulfilled love, a ‘pure’ love, as some imbeciles chose to call it – they might not speak of it with such awe if they realised how much that kind of love usually bordered on obsession.

Somebody returning his affection to a certain degree, however (as he sometimes permitted himself to think Hermione might), Severus did not know how to deal with at all. That might serve to explain his sudden burst of eighteenth century manners there. He couldn’t even avoid her for a few days, seeing as they had decided to brew again tomorrow, with the trial so close.

Severus groaned heartily, and then looked around to check that nobody had heard. A quite nonsensical precaution, at this time of night, of course – though he scowled at the painting of a witch in medieval battle garb, who had raised her eyebrows at him. With a sigh, he decided to hurry to his quarters to try and catch at least a few hours of sleep.


	10. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A kidnapping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not an action-filled story, but some sneaked in here ;-) Enjoy it while it lasts and don't worry too much about Snape.

Come morning, all hell broke loose. That was the only description Hermione thought fitting, when she sat down around noon the following day to recap in a letter the events that had occurred since the moment when Ron had come running into the common room – panting and wheezing and deathly pale behind his freckles.

For once, Hermione was grateful they were all battle-hardened, as Ron managed a concise summary of the facts despite his obvious shock. There had been a Death Eater attack on Ron and Aidan in Hogsmeade, where they had gone in the early morning because of a note from Aidan’s mother to meet her there (‘probably fake’, Ron added, his voice wavering for a second). The three masked men clearly hadn’t expected Ron, who managed to land a few good blows but wasn’t able to incapacitate the attackers before they disappeared, taking Aidan with them.

“The way they disappeared – it looked like apparating, but they were clutching their forearms – their marks. That’s how Snape was able to follow them.”

_Ok, not perfectly concise, then_ , Hermione conceded, while asking as calmly as she could,

“How was Professor Snape – “

“Yes, right, I sent my Patronus to the nearest Order member as soon as I realised I couldn’t trace where they had gone, and then Snape appeared just a few seconds later.”

“And followed them, just like that?”

No time now to wonder what the man had been doing in Hogsmeade while under house arrest.

“Well, I told him about all of it, he looked at me for a few seconds, said ‘of course’, told me to send a Patronus to McGonagall, pressed his mark and was gone.”

At this point, Harry had come down, and they had gone over the whole thing again – partly without Ron, who excused himself quickly because he had to throw up, and then came back a few minutes later, shaking. Hermione wistfully remembered for a second what it had felt like to think the war truly over just a few days ago, then shook off the thought. None of them dared to say out loud what it might mean that the Death Eaters had been using the Dark Mark.

McGonagall’s silvery cat came with several messages, about her informing Order and Ministry and Aidan’s parents (who had assured her that they hadn’t planned on going to Hogsmeade any time soon).

Even though Hermione had cast _Muffliato_ right after Ron had burst into the common room, half of Gryffindor was staring at them by then. They couldn’t hear, but clearly saw that something was going on. So she forced Harry to address the lot of them, and he actually managed to get them to leave for breakfast without revealing details or causing a panic. He seemed to be getting the hang of this public speaking thing recently.

Harry called a house-elf and ordered chamomile infusion for Ron and tea for them, and they made a list of potential places that Snape would think obvious hideouts for Death Eaters. The thing was: most of them had been raided by now. It was nearly a year after the final battle, after all. The only known Death Eaters still at large were Mulciber, Rowle and the shadowy Richardson, who, to the best of their knowledge, had not participated in the final battle.

After a while, Hermione was starting to find it hard to concentrate – they were going in circles and she was worried sick about Snape (and Aidan, of course, she reminded herself guiltily).

“Why the fuck didn’t Snape tell me where he was going?” Ron was saying for the third time. Hermione knew the Ministry could probably tell them – there was a trace on him, after all, but she didn’t want to involve the authorities if it was at all avoidable. Talking about the mark would lead to a panic, she knew.

“Maybe he didn’t know,” Harry threw in suddenly, eyes blazing. “I mean, what if it wasn’t ‘of course – I know where they are’ but ‘of course – that’s the way they did it’?”

Ron nodded slowly. Hermione asked herself how she could have been so stupid as to have overlooked one very basic fact.

“You said it was the mark – but the Protean charm must have deactivated with Voldemort’s death!”

And even if they all felt the irrational worry that somehow, Voldemort had come back yet again, she wasn’t quite ready to believe that – especially as another solution had just occurred to her.

Without even thinking about the offense to Madam Pince, Hermione opened a window and cast the most powerful _Accio_ she could muster to summon a book from the restricted section of the library, overriding the charms that were placed on the books to prevent just that. She could hear a glass pane breaking in the distance and then the heavy tome flew towards her, its old leather bindings glinting in the sun, the material having gone shiny with age. She snatched it out of the air impatiently.

Ron and Harry were staring at her. Despite everything, Ron managed a small smile as he turned to Harry and said:

“Man, I still love it when she breaks the rules.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at them and flicked through the yellowed pages. She remembered from what she had read in fifth year that using the charm on humans had been outlawed several centuries ago – not that there were many powerful enough to perform it, anyway. One of the main reasons had been that the spell was not removable, and resisting a summoning was supposed to be incredibly painful.

The illustrations in the book certainly looked gruesome enough. She wondered how often Snape had had to do just that – resist – and how it was that he still appeared to be pretty sane. Well, maybe the fact that he seemed to like her so well all of a sudden was the first sign that he was finally going round the twist.

Then she found it. _How to reactivate a human Protean charm_ – Hermione knew she had never read that chapter. She had once toyed with the idea of making someone else the focus of Voldemort’s marks; they could have deprived him of all of his Death Eaters in one go. But the spell could only be modified after the death of its creator, so she had dismissed the thought as useless.

Now she read on and found that, to reactivate such a spell only gave you rather limited options. As it was still tied to its deceased creator, a person could not simply become a new focus for the spell. Instead, it could only send those that had been subjected to the original incantation to significant places in the creator’s personal history – place of birth, place of death, possibly a few more. And it was doing so completely at random.

Ron looked confused as he asked,

“Why bother, then?”

Hermione didn’t need the book to answer that one.

“What’s the big disadvantage of apparition? Come on, future Aurors?”

Harry got there first, although he murmured something about ‘not having decided’ about becoming an Auror yet, before he replied. “It’s traceability. And that’s why Ron couldn’t go after those bastards, I guess?”

Hermione made an affirmative gesture.

“Exactly. This is not traceable, because the person apparating does not focus on the destination. But as we know the original creator, we should be able to find out what their options are, I think.”

Suddenly, there was a nervous anticipation in the room, that Harry diffused slightly by ordering sandwiches from another squealing house elf.

“What? I’m not going to fight hungry,” was his very sensible reply to Hermione’s and Ron’s disapproving looks. Harry made them eat at least a few bites. While they were chewing, McGonagall’s Patronus appeared again. In her stern voice, it informed them that ‘the Death Eaters are demanding a ransom for Aidan and free passage out of the country’.

“No chance in hell,” Harry hissed. Hermione sent her otter back with an update on their findings – though she refrained from mentioning to the headmistress that they were about to head out. They were confident that they had at least an hour until the slow moving machine of the Ministry had processed the news and would be sending out Aurors.

A brief discussion took place: all right, place of death is Hogwarts; place of birth is probably too Muggle for them, the graveyard was a kind of rebirth (Harry shuddered) – so that’s a possibility; unfortunately, we can’t easily identify the points of creation for most of the Horcruxes, aside from his father’s house... They decided to head to the graveyard first.

The three of them flew to the gates on Harry’s and Ron’s brooms, thus avoiding a question-spiked walk through the castle. Hermione clutched Ron’s waist tightly. She was still not too fond of flying. At the gates, Harry side-alonged both of them to the place of Voldemort’s second coming.

Hermione was just as quick as Harry and Ron to flatten herself to the ground after arriving. After a few seconds of eerie quiet, she felt decidedly ridiculous, trying to look past an upturned vase of long-since withered flowers. _Homenum revelio_ showed them that they were completely alone. Slowly, they stood up.

“Let’s go,” Harry said urgently. But Hermione and Ron took a good look around, even if Harry was fast getting impatient. If one didn’t know what had occurred there, the half-overgrown, mossy gravestones framed by the first wild flowers of the year might make the place seem picturesque, even peaceful, Hermione reflected.

Three loud, nearly simultaneous apparition sounds made them duck down behind the gravestones again instantly.

Hermione clutched her wand as she recognised Rowle and Mulciber, who were carrying a limp body. The third man to have apparated with them stumbled, and held himself up on one of the crumbling gravestones, which was already leaning dangerously to one side. All three of the Death Eaters looked decidedly worse for wear, she noticed after the first shock had passed.  Rowle was trying to stop the blood flow from an arm wound, and Mulciber was holding two pieces of a broken wand.

“That traitor!” he hissed.

“Oh, not for much longer. I got him good,” probably-Richardson wheezed, trying to catch his breath.

Hermione saw Ron make the slightest hand movement towards the man, saw Harry mouth ‘Rowle’, and nodded towards Mulciber herself. Ron counted to three with the fingers of his right hand and they moved as one.

_Stupefy_. _Incarcerous_.

And just like that, it was over. None of their targets had had shields up.

They ran towards the limp figure – Aidan! – and Hermione cast the diagnostic spell before she had even reached him.

“Just unconscious!” she exclaimed.

At that moment, Snape appeared in front of her, screaming.

~---~

Severus had been wrecked by pain spasms that made him wish for the relative mildness of the _Cruciatus_ for Merlin knew how long. He felt the pull of the mark and tried to resist it with all his might. He didn’t quite remember why at this point, but he knew instinctively that it would be life-threatening to give in.

When his right hand brushed the mark in an involuntary movement, he knew it was over. He felt the tug of apparition through an agonised haze. He must be dying, for the last thing he saw before the world went black, was Hermione Granger’s worried, beloved face.


	11. Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A panicky Snape, some talk about a nasty curse, and a kind mediwitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter, though not uneventful, I think. Longer ones again soon :-)

Sunlight filled the hospital wing and fell on Hermione, who was slowly plucking her quill, getting bits of feather on the parchment in front of her. She had to get that letter done before they would see today’s _Prophet_. But oh, how to write about yesterdays’ events in a non-threatening way? She went back to destroying her writing instrument instead. Finally, she found a suitable start and let the words flow onto the page.

 “What are you writing, Granger?”

The groggy voice made her look up instantly. Black, clouded eyes were trying their best to focus on her. She breathed in deeply to calm her racing heart and smiled at him as best she could.

“A letter to my parents.”

His lips stretched into a vague smile.

“That’s good. They’re all right then?”

She thought he sounded worried now, but it was difficult to make out his tone of voice, as his words were ever so slightly slurred.

“Yes, they’re fine,” Hermione replied bemusedly, before adding, “It’s good to see you awake, sir.”

Snape still looked more than a little confused. It was to be expected, with the amount of pain relief potions that had been poured into him. He appeared to be trying to sit up.

“Wait, don’t move! I’m going to adjust the spells.”

Suddenly, his body’s movements became frantic. He was desperately trying to find purchase somewhere.

“Granger, get out!” he cried.

“Calm down! Please, calm down. I can’t leave you.”

The anguish in his eyes shocked her.

“You have to! I appear to be floating over the bed...completely naked! I won’t let you...you should not...”

His outburst had quickly exhausted him, but even as he trailed of, seemingly finding it hard to keep holding onto his train of thought, he looked horrified. Snape without his iron self-control was certainly a novel experience, Hermione reflected, while striving for detached calm herself.

She tried for an imitation of Pomfrey’s stern voice. Where was the mediwitch, anyway?

“Professor Snape, you have been hit by a skin boiling curse, from which you will hopefully recover fully. You need to understand that while you recover, nothing but air can touch your skin. There is, however, a sheet floating around you – see – “, she adjusted the spells so that his head was lifted incrementally, “ – to cover your modesty. Although, I was one of the people to bring you in, so I might have seen a little more than is currently visible.”

She was blushing, even if the only things she had really paid attention to in those moments were the terrible red of his blistering skin and the parts of fabric that still stuck to it. Snape, for his part, went pale, or as pale as the new, rosy skin on his mostly healed face could get. Hermione was glad Madame Pomfrey had allowed the eyebrows and eyelashes to regrow immediately (Snape had looked decidedly weird without them). She tried to reassure him with a soothing voice.

“Don’t concern yourself with all of that now. Just rest.”

He clearly didn’t appreciate that comment, but his eyes were already drooping, the pain potions forcing him back to sleep. In sharp contradiction to his previous statements, he mumbled, “Don’t leave me,” before his breathing evened out.

Hermione sighed and resisted the urge to tuck him in – a ridiculous notion when the sheet wasn’t supposed to touch Snape.

With a last fond look, she decided to turn towards her letter again and looked up to see Madame Pomfrey standing in the doorway, frozen to the spot, her eyes flickering from Hermione to Snape and back. She must have been there for quite a while. Hermione decided not to wait until her bafflement turned into indignation.

“There is nothing untoward going on, Madam Pomfrey. We have become friends, as unlikely as that may seem.”

It wasn’t strictly true of course – even though everything physical that had occurred between them at this point could fall into the realm of friendship, some things were definitely over the line when one took into account their student-teacher-relationship. But she looked Madam Pomfrey squarely in the eye as she said it, and that seemed to do the trick.

“Of course, my dear. Now I understand better why you wanted to sit with him. It is just that Severus has never really accepted friendship from anyone in this castle. It confounded me to see him act so familiar with you.”

“Oh, believe me, I don’t understand it myself. Though I am happy about it,” Hermione added honestly.

“Well, it can only be a good thing for him,” the matron declared in her usual no-nonsense tone.

At that moment, Snape made a small noise in his sleep, turning his head so that Hermione could see his face. It was mostly smoothed out, but a small frown remained between his eyebrows. She was all of a sudden immensely glad he was alive. A wave of quiet contentment flooded her, and she smiled.

Madam Pomfrey cleared her throat.

“You know, Miss Granger, if ever that friendship of yours should morph into something else, try and wait until you are out of school, yes?”

The mediwitch was regarding her sternly, but it was not a hostile look. There even was a small smile on her lips.

“Yes, madam,” Hermione replied quietly. She saw how she had been pretty transparent there. The benevolent reaction surprised her – it was not something that she would have thought to hope for.

As though she sensed that an explanation was in order, Madam Pomfrey went on,

“He is a good man, and an honourable one, I believe. A man who has paid dearly for the one important mistake he made when he was, essentially, still a boy. I have seen him sad, enraged and embittered. I would like to see him happy one day.”

Hermione could only nod. She seemed to have no words that would make it past the lump in her throat. Madam Pomfrey took pity on her and started fussing about with Snape’s salves and potions, and then cast a few diagnostic spells. Soon, they were talking about the patient rather than the man.

~---~

When Severus woke again much later, the sun was setting outside, judging from the beautiful light in the hospital wing that reminded him of his workroom. He was in pain, but it was not unbearable yet. Right now, he valued his capacity to think more than his comfort.

With a clearer mind, he thought back to when he had first woken up a few hours ago. He cringed at the slightly hazy memory of him throwing an unnecessary fit in front of Granger. She was still here, he discovered. Dozed off in an armchair beside his hospital bed, arms clutching a book (wasn’t that a surprise).

He remembered that she had said something about a skin boiling curse and understood that must have been what allowed his erstwhile Death Eater comrades to escape him. He had been lucky the first time when he followed them, landing close, but out of sight. Frustratingly, they had moved around a lot, arguing about whether to stay or to continue on, so that he couldn’t find a good moment to attack. When they’d used the mark again to change locations and he’d done so, as well, he had unfortunately been deposited right in their midst.

The fight had been long and hard, but even he could not hold his own forever against three wizards who knew some of the nastiest spells ever invented. Skin-boiling, indeed. It would have been a terrible way to die.

He was much less clear on what had happened then – his adversaries had moved again with the unconscious boy, he thought – what had become of him? He hoped the fact that Mr. Bonfort-Grant was not in the hospital wing at this moment meant that he was fine, rather than dead.

He would have to ask Granger, but he did not want to wake her, not for something he might not want to hear anyway. She had dark circles under her eyes. She’d brought him in, she’d said. He probably owed his life to her. Idly, he wondered why that wasn’t bothering him much. He had spent the past twenty-odd years paying off a life-debt to a man he had hated. Well, he didn’t hate her; that much was for sure. Maybe that made all the difference?


	12. Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Distracting hair, a grand headline, and an uneasy peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got round to counting the chapters - there will be 39+(a very short) epilogue, if I didn't miscount.
> 
> This is kind of a transitory one, but there are a few new things, as well, especially about character motivations.

Hermione woke up later in the evening with a stiff neck. Or at least she assumed it had to be rather late, as the lights in the hospital wing were down to a faint shimmer. When she moved about a bit to stretch, Snape’s calm voice startled her.

“Would you mind casting _Lumos_? It appears that my movement has been rather severely restricted.”

Oh, great. She had stayed to assist him, should he wake up, and had promptly fallen asleep.

“Lumos. Madam Pomfrey says you’ll be free to move again tomorrow. You’re healing well. Are you in pain?”

She looked at him carefully, lest he try and lie to her. His hair was standing off at odd angles, which was incredibly endearing. It made her remember his slightly tousled look on that first day in the courtyard. His answer to her question, when it came, seemed honest enough.

“It is bearable.”

He cut her off before she could suggest a potion.

“I do not want anything that will make me feel like I’m wrapped up in cotton wool. I’d rather stay in pain, but rational, and not have a repeat...”

He trailed off. Was she imagining it, or was his face colouring slightly? Maybe it was just the pinkness of new skin that gave her the impression.

They compromised on one of the milder potions. When he had taken it, closing his eyes as she put the flacon to his lips, he started to ask about what had happened to Aidan (who was currently arguing with his parents about staying in school, as far as she knew), and wanted to know how he himself had been brought in (with, yes, definite spots of colour on his cheeks now, that made her wonder how well he remembered their previous conversation). In return, he related to Hermione how he had come to be in such a precarious position.

“So it was you,” Snape said, half to himself, when she had reached the part where he had appeared in front of them.

He started to explain, “I thought I saw you. I had accidentally brushed the mark, even as I was trying to avoid...why are you looking at me like that?”

Hermione wrenched away her eyes.

“Sorry, sir. It’s your hair...”

For a second, there was silence. Then he replied, with a slight panicky undertone to his voice,

“Oh Merlin, don’t tell me I don’t have any.”

Hermione looked up again sharply.

“What? No! Oh, right, the curse. It grew back right away last night. Rather like Harry’s when someone tries to cut it.”

Snape didn’t look amused at the comparison. After a second, she realised that his scowl also indicated that he was still waiting for an explanation.

“It’s just a bit... wild. Dishevelled.”

He sighed.

“Just hit it with a spell then.”

She was blushing herself now, she could feel it clearly.

“I don’t mind it, you know.”

Snape looked as if he didn’t quite know whether to be amused or irritated. He was spared the decision, when a knock on the door distracted them.

“’Mione? Can I come in?”

Without waiting for an answer, Ron opened the door. He recoiled slightly at Snape’s decidedly unwelcoming glare, but then apparently resolved to ignore it as much as possible.

“It’s only, have you sent that letter to your parents? ‘Cause there’s this big story in the _Evening Prophet_ now, which has our names and everything.”

This morning’s _Prophet_ had only included a few lines on the attack, barely more than the identities of the captured Death Eaters. Hermione was glad to have finished and sent off the letter shortly after her talk with Madam Pomfrey.

“Yes, I have, and by express owl. Let me see.”

She took the paper from Ron’s hands. Meanwhile, Snape had forgotten to glare and was looking at them curiously.

“Your parents read the _Evening Prophet_?”

The unsaid ‘but they’re Muggles’ was a clear part of the question. Hermione was already engrossed in the article, which featured a long interview with Harry (how had he already had time for that, in between reporting to Kingsley and calming down a worried-angry headmistress?), and therefore replied only with a distracted “yes”. She was astonished, but quite amused, when Snape turned to Ron instead.

Oh, this was better than she could have hoped for. Harry had outdone himself. And even the photo of Snape they had used was less forbidding than usual. It was a snapshot of him talking to the headmistress, gesturing wildly, making a point about something.

With half an ear, she listened to Ron’s explanation of how she had blocked her parents’ memory of her and sent them off to Australia for the duration of the war. Of how the charm had already been fading when they went to visit them last summer, of the slightly frosty welcome they had received (which had, however, not masked their relief at seeing her well), and of how they hadn’t wanted to come back.

Hermione forgot about the article for a second when she remembered how angry they had been with her. Their reaction hadn’t been entirely dissimilar to McGonagall’s yesterday – most of that anger had come from worry and from a feeling of being left out, and so it was decided that her parents would get the _Prophet_ from now on, to stay abreast of news from the wizarding world. She had warned them about the publication’s factual inaccuracies and had also informed them that the paper would go blank after a while in a completely Muggle environment, but there was enough time for them to read it, they had found out.

Snape had just asked Ron about precisely that problem. Hermione had finished the article now, but was loath to interrupt a non-hostile conversation between the two people in her life that she worried most couldn’t really get on. However, Snape was now asking what the Prophet had written that had needed a reassuring letter from Hermione, and Ron simply said,

“I think it would be best if ‘Mione just showed you the article.”

So she turned the pages to let Snape see the headline.

‘SNAPE SAVES THE DAY’, it proclaimed in capital letters.

Snape blinked.

“What is this?”

He sounded weirdly unsure.

“The truth, for once, I’d say.”

Hermione grinned. Ron did so as well, adding,

“Yes, who would’ve thought that rack would get it right one day. With a little prompting by Harry, of course.”

Snape was craning his neck, trying to read the article. She couldn’t hand it to him, of course, for fear of disrupting the healing process, so she spelled it to float in front of his face. However, he looked away from it now, as Ron’s words seemed to register.

“Potter did this? Why?”

Hermione was suddenly nervous. She hadn’t thought about how he might not appreciate that they had tried to help him without asking first. She took a deep breath and replied,

“We all decided that it was best to downplay our role as much as possible. I mean, we were basically just telling the truth: you had already done all the work for us when we arrived. And Harry got them to print that you are facing an ‘unfounded trial’. I think the Wizengamot will have some trouble if they try to convict you unjustly.”

It was as she had feared. He was sneering at her once more.

“Do you truly think public opinion – or the opinion of the Wizengamot – will turn just like that? This is useless; it might even make things worse. They might convict me just to spite the press.”

Ron’s reply came quicker than hers. He sounded angry.

“You could show a little gratitude, you old bastard. And don’t tell us how fast everyone’s opinion can change! Remember when they said Harry’d gone round the twist and how many people immediately believed that?”

He seemed about to say more, but Hermione interrupted him before Snape could.

“Ron, stop! I will not have my friends insult each other!”

Her voice had gone shrill – she was anticipating Snape’s ire. But the man was looking at her instead of Ron. His sneer was morphing into a smile. What was going on?

“Get out, Weasley,” he said dismissively.

Ron opened his mouth again as if to protest, but Hermione stared him down and he left without further comment, but also without an apology. Oh well, it couldn’t be helped right now. Meanwhile, Snape was looking at her strangely.

“I would like to read this alone, I think,” he said, in a much kinder tone of voice, when Ron had closed the door behind him. “Furthermore, I think that you should most certainly get some sleep in a real bed. Would you mind leaving the paper and sending in Poppy?”

She could do that. Hopefully Snape wouldn’t decide, after careful reflection on the matter, that he was angry with her after all.

“I’m surprised Madam Pomfrey hasn’t come in again by now. She must have heard that you’re awake.” Hermione nodded towards the office door in the corner.

Snape looked at her suspiciously.

“I was certainly astonished she hadn’t thrown you out, in her usual overprotective manner.”

She decided to try for the almost-truth.

“She needed someone to monitor the healing process. She couldn’t very well be unavailable for other patients. And I volunteered, of course.”

Snape was looking at her expectantly.

“And?”

Oh, of course he noticed that there was another part she wasn’t telling him about.

“And she realised how much you mean to me. Good night, sir.”

She turned quickly towards the door, not looking at him, and forgot completely to send in Madam Pomfrey.

Snape must think her a coward, Hermione reflected, when she stood in the hallway, having just sent her Patronus through the hospital wing and into Pomfrey’s office to tell the mediwitch that she was turning in for the night. But she’d rather not face him right now. Who knew how he’d react...

~---~

Poppy was nattering on about precautions to take before he could be released from the hovering spell, but Severus wasn’t listening. Not only had Hermione Granger just made it clear that she counted him amongst her friends, she had also implied that she cared for him more than a little – only to run away directly afterwards.

The cynic in him wanted to believe that this was because he might have seen a lie in her eyes had she stayed; but deep down he felt differently about her proclamation. Inside him, something ached and buzzed pleasantly. At the same time, it also had the potential to hurt him deeply, he knew. He wondered why he wasn’t wearier of it.

“She’s a nice young woman,” Poppy suddenly ventured. He had not noticed the change in topic away from his various ailments. Severus narrowed his eyes to slits.

“What are you saying?”

Poppy smiled at him in that annoying manner Albus had had, as if she knew something beyond his grasp.

“Only that, for once, I think you are quite a lucky man, Severus Snape.”

And with that, she bid him goodnight.

Severus did not know for certain how he felt about that – a bit shocked at Poppy’s acceptance of the situation, he supposed, as well as more than a bit elated that another person had seen some kind of regard for him on Hermione’s part.

He let his eyes fall back to the paper that the mediwitch had put on a side table. She had given him leave to move it wandlessly, so he did. He reread the article with the ridiculous headline. Potter had indeed sung his praises. One more reason to feel like he owed that brat something... but that was not truly what annoyed him the most.

For all his nattering on about injustice and his subsequent acceptance of Granger’s and (more reluctantly) Potter’s help – now that it came to it, he wasn’t so sure if he really wanted to easily win this trial, or win it at all. He would never admit it to anyone if at all possible, but the last months of calm and quiet, which he had so desperately longed for all those years, had made him uneasy. He had planned on enjoying the respite to the fullest, but then had felt almost guilty about it, like he wasn’t allowed.

The last weeks on the contrary – the impending trial, Narcissa being cursed, him being questioned at the Ministry, the kidnapping, and a near-death experience on top of it – all of that had been more familiar. Except for Granger of course – that relationship was about as unfamiliar to him as it could get. Perhaps there was a reason for striving to win this trial, after all. Though he did not understand why it should, Severus rather suspected it might make her happy.


	13. Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An even more astonishing headline, a half-bad and half-good potions lesson, and Harry's tendency to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite a lot happening in this one. As always, happy to receive comments, observations, reviews etc. ;-)

Twenty-four hours later, the question of what to do about the trial was moot. It didn’t actually have all that much to do with Hermione; all she had done, really, was to talk to the _Quibbler_. When she had entered the Gryffindor common room the night before, after leaving the hospital wing, Luna had been waiting for her in one of the armchairs by the fire. She had apparently passed the time by talking to Crookshanks, who was rolled up in the chair opposite hers. In her typical distracted manner, Luna overheard Hermione’s question of how she’d gotten in (Hermione suspected Harry). She was, however, adamant about getting a statement for a special edition of her father’s paper.

The Quibbler hadn’t been appearing for a while, but now George Weasley was investing in it, and had decided that Snape’s story was a worthy one for the relaunch. Hermione was a bit reluctant at first; she feared a sensationalist tale, but was quickly reassured when Luna mainly asked her about the legal background surrounding the trial.

She got the first inkling of what was to come when she stole a glance at Luna’s notes. The various bundles of sheets had titles like ‘Interview headmistress’, ‘Interview Arthur Weasley’, ‘Interview Draco Malfoy’, ‘List of confirmed Snape information gathering during 2nd War’, ‘Statement Kingsley Shacklebolt’, ‘Interview Harry’, ‘chronology of critical 2nd War events’, or ‘conversation with Aidan Bonfort-Grant and parents’. The current one read ‘Trial: §-difficulties’. There was a lot more, and it all looked surprisingly well-ordered. Luna must have been very busy during the last days.

On the way to breakfast, Harry told her that Luna had been writing a long piece about Snape not for days, but for weeks – she had started even before they knew about the trial. Then, after the kidnapping, some parts of it had been quickly modified or added. Even with this preparation and the help of magic, it was still quite the feat to have the finished article in newspapers all over Wizarding Britain this morning. And that last part was no exaggeration, it really was all over – George had decided to print free copies for every wizarding household as a publicity stunt. He hadn’t forgotten Hogwarts either – at breakfast, the Great Hall was practically flooded with owls.

Hermione groaned as she saw the title page – echoing the Prophet, but taking it a step further, it read ‘SNAPE SAVED THE WAR’. Someone would not be happy about that. She wondered if an owl had delivered a Quibbler copy to the hospital wing, and if that owl had escaped Snape’s reaction intact.

She shook off the image of flying feathers and read the article, which went on for several pages and was – despite the headline – indeed as factual and in-depth as promised. Though it had its emotional moments as well, especially when Mr. and Mrs. Bonfort-Grant expressed their gratitude and Aidan described how Snape had fought against the kidnappers. Aidan didn’t have that weariness everyone else felt about Snape – he had only known him post-war and sounded really quite admiring. Oh yes, Snape would loathe this.

Hermione noticed that nobody around her was eating. Students from all houses were reading the _Quibbler_ , and a growing buzz of discussion filled the Great Hall. A surprising amount of what she overheard sounded pro-Snape. There were those, however, who not-so-fondly remembered his time as headmaster and remained openly critical of him. Hermione promised herself to talk to Neville and Ginny about that year, even if they had been reluctant so far to do just that. She wanted, needed to understand.

When breakfast was coming to a close, the headmistress had to cast _Sonorus_ and remind them all it was time for classes.

Hermione groaned for the second time this morning, when she set foot in the dungeons and realised that this year’s Defence teacher was covering for Professor Snape. She was not alone in the sentiment. Harry’s quietly murmured “God, I doubt he’ll be more competent here than he is in his usual lessons,” got more than a few nods and smirks of assent.

Hermione supposed it was actually not so much that the man was incompetent – in comparison to the Defence teachers of years past, Professor Zarantuwa seemed to know what he was talking about once in a while – but that he was teaching a class of students who had fought in a war until very recently, while he had not, having just moved back to Britain from Australia. His students did have high expectations for DADA lessons, and were questioning every theory for practicability. Their teacher sometimes had difficulty maintaining his authority, as his pupils did not hesitate to correct him.

It soon became apparent that, while the subject Zarantuwa had chosen for their lesson – potions and their use in Defence against the Dark Arts – was a fascinating one, his knowledge of the potions themselves left much to desire. Hermione flinched more than once, as if physically hurt by misinformation, and had trouble holding back a laugh when she heard Neville whisper, “What in Merlin’s name is he saying? Even I know better.”

By the middle of class, open revolt was breaking out. People were loudly interjecting with corrections, and started to ignore the lecture, instead discussing their topic in small groups. Hermione had made a token effort to at least involve their teacher (him keeping control of the room wasn’t really an option at this point), but that too was in vain – the wizard stubbornly insisted he was right, even when he was most assuredly not.

At some point, Draco Malfoy, of all people, simply moved his chair to Hermione’s and Harry’s table and shocked them completely by saying, with a dismissive frown towards Zarantuwa,

 “That just can’t be right. Granger, I’m sure you know this stuff.”

They stared at each other for a few seconds, Hermione and Harry incredulously, Draco haughtily. Then, Harry shrugged and asked him a question, and just like that, they were discussing the relative merits of potions vs. spells for warding purposes.

Their professor was taking points left and right, but nobody seemed to care all that much – or at least not until they saw Snape standing in the doorway, looking bemusedly at his seventh/eighth year Slytherins and Gryffindors. Zarantuwa chose that exact moment to give up on his class.

“Detention, all of you. I am going to speak to the headmistress about this,” he ground out. He registered the sudden silence with smug satisfaction on his face, until he turned around and collided with Snape.

“Is there a problem, Indran?” Snape asked quietly, but in a voice that carried effortlessly throughout the classroom. His eyes were glinting, and Hermione saw her classmates cowering a little. Apparently she was the only one to recognise the look as amusement rather than irritation.

Professor Zarantuwa, for his part, gave his colleague an annoyed look and hissed,

“You can have them back. Gladly.”

Then he stalked out.

Snape observed his class in that way he had that could make everybody squirm, regardless of whether they had actually done anything wrong, and raised his eyebrows. Hermione had trouble holding back a grin.

“What have you done to the man?” he wanted to know. He took a few measured steps towards their desks.

“Anyone?”

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but he had already come to a halt in front of Neville.

“Mr. Longbottom?”

Neville stood up. Snape was of more than average height, but after his last growth spurt, his most difficult pupil towered over him. The potions master raised his head, clearly annoyed, but he listened to Neville’s calm explanation of what had happened, without interrupting him. The old stutter Neville had had when speaking to Snape was notably absent. Snape tilted his head, looking intrigued, which somewhat lessened the impact of one of his usual insults.

“I doubt for some reason that you in particular could assess the factual inaccuracies of Professor Zarantuwa’s lesson, Mr. Longbottom.”

Neville squared his jaw. Hermione wondered for the umpteenth time what he was still doing in this class. Weirdly enough, Neville had taken it up, with several other people who had previously discontinued potions, when McGonagall had given theoretical lessons at the beginning of term (the headmistress had had no other choice than to teach them herself after having been told by Slughorn that nothing in the world could bring him out of retirement a second time). Neville had then stayed on when Snape came back. Even more weirdly, Snape hadn’t said a word about it yet. Now, the professor suddenly continued,

“However, I am inclined to believe you in this.”

Neville opened his eyes wide. Then he nodded and sat back down. Snape let his gaze wander over Harry, Draco, Ron... when his eyes fell on Hermione, she tried to convey with a Pomfrey-worthy look what she thought about him being out of the hospital wing so soon. Surely this couldn’t have been sanctioned by the mediwitch?

Snape briefly lifted his eyes dungeon-ceiling-wards in response. Then he turned around in a fluid wave of black cloth, and continued the lesson. Suddenly, what Zarantuwa had tried to convey, clumsily and often inaccurately, made sense.

After a few minutes in the beginning, during which, sparked by Snape’s sudden presence, her classmates commented under their breath on the _Quibbler_ article, nobody was whispering or passing notes anymore. Everybody listened raptly, appreciating for the first time the simple competence and utter brilliance of this teacher (Well, that was how Hermione saw it, but for once, she might not have been the only one).

Potions for dissimulation, confusing concoctions to change one’s magical signature, brews that could weaken enemies and many more were explained to them succinctly, but comprehensively. For one reason or another, Snape, who usually seemed to consider exemplifications beneath him, even deigned to illustrate his points by relating situations in which he or other members of the Order had been saved using these potions.

He actually went so far as to throw in a practical demonstration. Snape chose Harry as his test subject, but astonished his class even more when he did not make him look bad in the process.

He merely let Harry swallow a shielding potion that could temporarily replace the _Protego_ charm and threw a few hexes at him. They bounced off harmlessly. Harry had made no move to raise his wand. He was looking at Snape with trust in his eyes. Hermione noticed with more than a little amusement that the professor found this disconcerting.

When they had reached the end of the lesson, no one complained as Snape assigned them a three-foot essay on what they had learned. Hermione heard Parvati whisper, “How am I going to limit myself to three feet?”

She lingered. When the class had filed out, she slowly packed up the rest of her belongings and went to the front desk, where, as soon as the others were gone, Snape had fallen down on his chair, resting his head in his hands. He casually steepled his fingers under his chin when she approached, and forestalled the comments on the tip of her tongue with,

“Before you ask, I was given leave to recover in my quarters. I was merely checking in on my class on the way there. I did plan to rest for the remainder of the day.”

That took the wind from her sails, so she merely remarked,

“I think you may have gained yourself a fan club instead.”

Snape snorted. It sounded rather incredulous, but he didn’t protest. It had been clear from the way he was conducting the lesson that he was trying to make an impression. She rather hoped for an explanation for that, but he remained silent.

Hermione was starting to wonder if she should say something about her parting words of yesterday evening, or just go on as if nothing had happened, when an owl fluttered through the open door of the classroom. The letter it held out to Snape on its outstretched leg bore the seal of the Wizengamot.

Snape rummaged around in his robes, unearthing a few owl treats. Reminded of Hagrid, Hermione smiled, and nearly commented on it; but she was too nervous about what the letter might contain. She also feared he would dismiss her before he read it if she reminded him of her presence. So she stood in silence as long fingers broke the red wax of the seal.

He read the letter carefully, looked up, frowned, and went back to it. When he looked up again, there was utter confusion in his eyes.

“It is an apology. A ‘procedural error’, they say. The Wizengamot has dropped the trial and is informing me that, in addition, they are ready to overlook my violation of the house arrest when I was following the Death Eaters. And here I thought that last infraction would present enough of a complication on its own – somehow I didn’t see how they would just accept it calmly when I told them my mark had started burning.”

Ah, so that was how that had happened... but that wasn’t the main point here, was it? The implications for the wizarding justice system were quite worrying, if one or two newspaper articles could make such a difference, but Hermione nevertheless had to resist the urge to jump into the air or squeal in delight at the news. Such restraint, however, was made considerably easier by seeing Snape’s face – he looked completely lost. Be that as it may, she could not help but beam at him.

“They really dropped the trial? That’s great!”

Snape got up and paced the classroom, looking for all intents and purposes like a black panther in a cage.

On the third turn, he stopped and squinted at her from where he stood near the back of the room.

“But why?” he asked.

Hermione swallowed, nervous again.

“Have you not read the _Quibbler_ today, sir?”

If possible, he looked even more confused.

“Why should I? I had no idea it was still published, and if I was interested in the migratory movements of the crumpling dringerworm, I would...”

Hermione took her copy out of her bag and spelled it to float in his direction.

“Don’t be mad at them. They mean well. And it actually seems to have helped,” was all she said, before she turned and left in a hurry. She was much too late for her Arithmancy lesson already. As she hastened up long flights of stairs, she reflected that this – running away to avoid his immediate reactions – was fast becoming a bad habit of hers. Though she had to admit, it had worked in her favour so far.

~---~

Severus was grateful he had shut the door behind her before he took a look at the paper in his hands. Like he had done with the letter, he read the article, and then read it again. He hadn’t taken in half of it the first time round. When he had finished, the pages were shaking in his hands. Disgusted with himself for such weakness, he threw them on his desk.

As with most things in his life thus far, this was not ‘how it was supposed to be’. No, it was completely and utterly wrong. What had that Lovegood girl been thinking? He was nearly repulsed by the way he had been depicted – Severus Snape was no hero.

If there were no untruths in this version of his life’s story, then there were certainly half-truths; or maybe one should call them lies by omission.

He had brewed poison, he had not only endured torture but also doled it out (and what difference could it possibly make to the victims that he had hated doing it), he had watched impassively as people he knew were murdered, he had killed, he had done nothing to stop children from dying, he had failed to keep the students of this very school safe against the Death Eaters he himself had been forced to employ, he had...

Severus took the empty potion bottle that had been used earlier for the demonstration and threw it at the stone wall. He found he liked the noise it made when it shattered. A quick _Reparo_ , and he was doing it again. And again. And again.

He thought about Potter, who did not look at him with suspicion any longer. Potter, who had always told everybody who would listen how he hated being famous for something he had not earned, something he did not deserve. Severus, who had once longed for recognition beyond anything else, could understand better now what might be so awful about that – though, surely, his own situation was worse? Maybe Potter’s fame hadn’t been deserved before he finished off the Dark Lord (Snape himself had always tried to point that out), but at least Potter had not been completely undeserving, either. The same could not be said of him.

A knock on the door interrupted his spiralling thoughts. It creaked open slowly.

“Professor? Can I come in?”

Earnest green eyes were looking at him through round spectacles.


	14. Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione doesn't know when to stay away, Snape doesn't know much about anything at the moment, and the headmistress meddles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No notes today. Just a new chapter :-)

“Hermione? Can you explain why Snape just yelled at me?”

Harry was looking very confused, she saw, as she looked up from the book she was reading in one of the common room armchairs, a disgruntled Crookshanks shifting around in her lab, trying to fit in the small space that wasn’t occupied by the heavy tome. She had some unexpected free time on her hands right now, because professor Vector had dismissed them early today – the professor was prone to sudden bursts of intuition and had been eager to get back to her calculations.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at her friend.

“What happened?”

Harry sighed and sat down on the carpet, legs crossed Indian-style, facing her.

“I wanted to talk about something he said in the lesson. I mean, normally I would never have... but he was okay in class today, more than, actually. As he was before, when we talked on Friday, so I thought...”

He sighed again, more heavily.

“He just started yelling at me the moment I came into the room – about interfering in his life, and how did I dare, and then something about the ‘impertinence’ of my ‘paramour’? I swear his vocabulary gets more and more stilted when he’s angry. So... what was that all about?”

Hermione felt the sudden need to go to Snape right now, even though it probably was a very bad idea. She got up, prompting an angry meow from her familiar, and started to explain to Harry what had happened just before she had left Snape. Harry didn’t get it.

“But, he shouldn’t be angry ‘bout that. Didn’t he want that, the trial ending? And then that part about my ‘paramour’? Wait... was he talking about _Luna_?”

Hermione confirmed this, leaving behind a stunned Harry as she hurried back down the rows and rows of stairs. He didn’t need her there – he would have some thinking to do right about now, anyway. Harry had always been a bit slow about realising his attraction to people.

The classroom was deserted, but the office door opened for her when she raised her hand to knock. Snape was grading papers in what appeared to be a veritable bloodbath of red ink. He only looked up briefly while she closed the door behind her.

 “Why are you here?” he said in the deep, strained voice of forced calm, eyes on his essays.

“You yelled at Harry.”

He looked up sharply at that and kept his narrowed eyes on her. His face closed off in no more than an instant, the troubled expression blanked.

“So he sent Miss Granger, his faithful little sidekick, who came running to complain?”

Lashing out again. Right.

“No! You misunderstand. It just made me realise that you were... more upset than I’d thought.”

He winced, as if ‘upset’ wasn’t something that could apply to him.

“What made you come to that conclusion? Surely you must acknowledge that yelling at Potter is not such an infrequent occurrence for me?”

Diversionary tactics. Hermione managed a calm reply, coming back to the actual subject she wanted to discuss.

“You were quite civil to him recently. Before you found out about the article.”

He turned away from her rather quickly, then. Hermione saw the look of betrayal on his face anyway, before his hair fell over it, hiding his profile from view. She went on regardless.

“I didn’t know what Luna had planned, exactly. But I have to say I approve. I think it has spared us the ordeal of the trial, and you know that is a good thing.”

From behind the curtain of black hair, he hissed,

“Is it? Has anything about me ever given you the impression that what I need is more unauthorised meddling in my life?”

 _Like a wounded animal_ , Hermione reminded herself, and resisted the urge to come closer, to touch his shoulder. Instead, she continued in the calmest tone she could muster,

“Luna meant well. And Harry didn’t consciously influence the whole thing much, so you can leave him out of it. Maybe I should have tried to persuade Luna to wait with publishing, but I’m not sure she would have listened – and I didn’t really see the necessity for it...”

She trailed off when he got up abruptly and turned towards her again.

“Leave.”

He hissed the word, his face a grimace. She didn’t move a muscle, which brought his anger back full force. His next words were spitting out of his mouth; and his features were all at once transformed to the ugliness that usually wasn’t there; whatever he might say.

“I don’t know why I expected you to understand. Just go, you insolent – “

He went suddenly still. Instead of retreating because of Snape’s intimidating, looming posture, Hermione had taken the opportunity to grab him by the shoulders. She took a deep breath and looked up at him, willing her voice not to shake too badly.

“Oh, I understand perfectly! You are feeling guilty. You feel undeserving; you think you have been made into something you are not. And maybe that article could be more balanced, but don’t you worry – there might be enough of a backlash soon to justify you acting so angry, while on the inside you’re secretly wallowing in your precious guilt again.”

Well, so much for staying calm. She didn’t know where those words had come from, didn’t know what made her so sure she was reading him correctly in this, didn’t care to analyse why she was feeling so strongly about it. His shocked look before he twisted out of her grasp practically confirmed to her that her assessment of the situation was indeed correct. He turned his head away from her prying eyes again.

“Leave. Please. I do not want you here.”

It was no more than a whisper this time. And God, did that pleading tone hurt, more than the words themselves.

“All right,” she gave in, suddenly tired of fighting him. The thought of just leaving him alone was difficult to accept – she had felt compelled to be with him, after all, had heard he was hurting and had wanted to make it better somehow. So she added, whispering now as well,

“But I would very much like to come back, as soon as you can bear that.”

He looked at her as if she had punched him. Whatever her intentions, she seemed to have a talent today for making things worse. He didn’t comment, however, so she cast down her eyes, and turned to leave. Snape did not stop her, or come after her, as she made her way back to Gryffindor tower. She had never made the journey up the stairs so slowly.

While she deflected Harry’s questions of where she had been, Hermione thought that she should have kept to her pattern and left Snape alone for a while. Clearly, she had not helped him by being there.

She didn’t really blame him for wanting her to leave; he probably was right, after all. Even if she could identify his behaviour, she didn’t truly understand what he was dealing with. She didn’t know that much about his past, not even all that much about him, and least of all did she comprehend why he had even trusted her thus far. But maybe that was a thing of the past now, maybe he would close himself off again as quickly as he had opened up to her. _I do not want you here._ Oh Merlin, that didn’t bear thinking about.

She said something to Harry about turning in early, and crawled under the covers with one of her comfort books – a story about a witch who had lived about 200 years ago. The book described a young girl’s entry into the wizarding world after having grown up a Muggle, and her subsequent fascination with magic.

Hermione’s parents had found it for her in _Flourish & Blotts_ on their very first trip there to buy her schoolbooks, and Hermione had read it several times. It always served to take her mind off things when she was distressed and suspected or knew that, at the moment, there wasn’t a lot she could do about it.

So she drew shut the curtains of her four-poster to disappear into the much-loved narrative, and even smiled distractedly when Crookshanks jumped onto the bed and started to purr loudly.

~---~

Meanwhile, Severus felt out of control. He didn’t know what to think, too much had happened too fast, and his thoughts seemed all muddled, tumbling over each other. On top of that, he still felt as if he was under a thick blanket of painkillers – Poppy Pomfrey hadn’t let him leave without taking several potions. They appeared to blur his perceptions and even his vision, and he swore to himself that as soon as he felt better, he would improve them to reduce the side effects.

All of this unhingedness doubtlessly influenced his conversation with Minerva, a few hours after Hermione Granger had left him at his request. The interim had been spent staring at the crackling flames in his fireplace, where Minerva’s head had popped up suddenly, asking permission to come through to talk about Indran Zarantuwa, amongst other things.

When, a further two hours later, he stood in a remote college by the Scottish sea that Albus had left the headmistress in his will, Severus wondered what on earth had made him agree to a week-long leave of absence in order to ‘convalesce in peace’, as Minerva had put it.

He had simply nodded his affirmation to what she had said, as if under some kind of trance. Maybe there had been a subtle argument reinforcing charm at work, paired with his unusual weakness? Whatever it was, he was too tired right now to examine whether he was grateful for it or angry about it, too tired to feel more than a little pang of sadness at the comfortable, crammed interior of the cottage that had Albus Dumbledore written all over it.

Severus fell asleep nearly instantly; face down, on a velvety couch in a particularly garish shade of lilac.


	15. Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting over tea, one of the weird things about growing up, and unavoidable glasses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Warning": also contains our two fools slowly but surely falling in love ;-)  
> Thanks for reading, and thanks for all the <3s! (I know I've said it before, but it bears repeating, I think.)

Hermione was worried. She had been angry, for a few days in between, but now she was worried again.

She hadn’t seen Snape in nearly a week. A day after their last encounter, when Snape had told her to leave him alone, the headmistress had announced at breakfast that she and Professor Sprout would be covering his classes for the week as he was ‘still convalescing’. It had sparked a lot of whispered discussions yet again.

By now, everybody had heard about Snape taking back the joint seventh and eighth year Slytherin/Gryffindor class. Since then, Professor Zarantuwa was having a hard time commanding respect in his Defence classes, but the constant comments about this or that prank that had been played yesterday afternoon went largely unnoticed by the head girl, who should at least have pretended to chastise her fellow students for such infractions.

Hermione was worried, because Snape wasn’t at meals, wasn’t in the courtyard, wasn’t to be seen anywhere in the castle. Had he taken a turn for the worse? Supposing he had, that might not change anything about the fact that he did not want to see her, so she waited. If she spent a lot of her free time in ‘their’ courtyard, it surely could be explained away by the beautiful spring weather.

On Saturday morning, she finally caved in and went to see Madam Pomfrey. When she asked carefully whether Professor Snape was doing all right, she was astonished to get the reply,

“Why, yes, he just flooed and threw a fit at me over the one lingering aftereffect from the curse. Nothing dramatic, really, but it annoys him no end. Apart from that little problem, he’s truly back to form, I’d say.”

The mediwitch blinked at her benevolently.

“Didn’t he talk to you about it, as well? I would have assumed he’d write to you while he was away.”

Hermione shook her head, and gave a huge inward sigh of relief that Snape seemed to be okay. Though, where was he? When she had not seen him at Hogwarts, her mind had come up with the most ridiculous stories of what might have happened to him. She could acknowledge that’s what they were now – ridiculous –, though they’d certainly seemed plausible at the time. She replied to Madam Pomfrey, a little embarrassed,

“He is not exactly talking to me right now, to be honest.”

Pomfrey gave her one of those uncomfortable looks that seemed to see right inside you.

“Oh dear,” was all she said at first, and then, “Would you like a cup of tea?”

So they went to her office and talked about Severus Snape over tea. Madam Pomfrey (“I should think you can call me Poppy, if we’re having tea together”) told her of Snape’s whereabouts and the headmistress’ hand in his leave of absence, and Hermione disclosed parts of their last encounter.

Pomfrey – Poppy – nodded gravely when Hermione had finished.

“That does sound like something he would do. You know, I haven’t always been fond of him... I was already employed at Hogwarts when he was a child, and I’m afraid I thought him rather mean-spirited. It was clear he had already been hurt by the people around him when he arrived, but he was so fiercely angry about it – he was lashing out so harshly that one forgot to feel sorry for him. I have often thought that perhaps that was his intention... I shouldn’t have fallen for it, in any case. I don’t think he ever forgot that I wasn’t of much help to him during those years.”

One of the weird things about growing up, Hermione found herself thinking, was realising that there was a fallibility to people who had seemed so unshakably, one-dimensionally good as a child. Before she knew it, she was offering words of comfort instead of receiving them.

A few minutes later, Hermione came back to the thing that was bothering her most – seeing as Snape had told her to leave him alone, should she respect his wishes?

The woman in front of her sighed.

“I think he is going to have a hard time truly believing that you want anything to do with him. From the few things I heard about his home life as a child, I don’t think anybody was simply kind to him even then – I once met his grandmother, Catlena Prince, though I didn’t make the connection to Severus until much later, when I read his mother’s name in his file. I should have, because I’d never forgotten the encounter, even if it was a few years before Severus went to Hogwarts...”

She trailed off for a second, but picked up her train of thought again.

“Yes, well, Catlena told me at the time that she was sure her daughter was trapped in a very unhappy relationship, but was ‘too stubborn to admit a mistake and come back to her’. Eileen had forbidden her to see her grandson, after Catlena had confronted Eileen about the fact that the boy seemed to have been beaten. I don’t think they kept in touch after that... I do understand Eileen as well, I have to say. The Princes were a very difficult family themselves, fanatic purebloods, the lot of them.”

Hermione thought about the few snippets she had seen in the Pensieve when extracting Snape’s memories – it couldn’t be helped, really, that she plunged into them a few times when trying to get them back in a bottle. Harry had gotten her out pretty quickly, but she had still seen a bit of the boy he had been – awkward, and shy, and irascible.

Poppy’s words interrupted her thoughts.

“To answer your question, I think you will have to go to him more often than he will come to you, so to speak. I fear he might reject you just because he doesn’t know how to react otherwise, or because he is afraid – “

She interrupted herself as the flames in her fireplace went green.

“Oh, that must be him again!”

Hermione quickly moved to the side of the fireplace, out of sight. Poppy looked like she was going to complain about that arrangement, but Snape’s head had already materialised in the flames. Hermione didn’t really see him from her standpoint, but she certainly heard him.

“Poppy? Ah, good. I have become certain the correction spell isn’t working anymore.”

Poppy nodded, a ‘yes, and?’-expression on her face when she replied.

“As I told you: that is sometimes the case. There was rather extensive damage to your eyes – the healing spells might have left magical residue that makes it impossible for the eyesight correction spell to take hold. Did the glasses I sent through help you?”

He replied immediately. Hermione was glad; it took the mediwitch’s disapproving eyes off her again. She clearly was not happy about her listening in to a patient conversation.

“Yes, very much so,” Snape was saying. “It is just that... I would rather like to avoid wearing them.”

The admission must have cost him; he sounded strained. Hermione saw the glint in Poppy’s eyes as she replied.

“I never thought you a particularly vain man, Severus.”

Hermione had to smile at the snort that was coming from the fireplace.

“Or is it that you are afraid they might make you look too much like a certain student of yours?”

Though Snape denied it – “Don’t be absurd!” – Hermione thought that Poppy had probably hit the nail on the head. While the mediwitch assured Snape that there was nothing else to be done about his nearsightedness at the moment, Hermione reflected on nothing more than how good it was to hear his voice. She nearly missed his question of “Is everything all right at the castle?”

The mediwitch shot a quick look at Hermione, before she answered,

“Miss Granger is doing fine; I just had tea with her. Oh, don’t pretend that isn’t the only thing you really wanted to know, Severus.”

He didn’t even bother denying it, Hermione noted. Though he said his goodbyes rather quickly after that, apparently a little embarrassed at being so transparent. By the time Poppy cut the connection, Hermione had decided she would write to him; even if he’d told Poppy before he signed off that he was planning on coming back tomorrow.

~---~

In a windswept cottage by the sea a few dozen miles away, Severus Snape was looking at a pair of round spectacles in disgust. He spelled them to black horn-rimmed squares, which was a marginal improvement. They still definitely served to make him look old, and he cared about that these days, even if he would never admit it to Poppy. Or to anyone else, for that matter.

He looked around with the glasses, seeing the cottage he had stayed in for the last days much more clearly than he had up until now. It didn’t do all that much for his peace of mind. Why had Minerva thought it was a good idea to bring him to a place that practically exuded Albus’ chaotic genius? Brilliant books were strewn among the old furniture, between tea cosies and shining instruments with no apparent purpose. It basically was a variation on how the headmaster’s office had always looked – without the benefit of house elves to keep it in order.

Physically, Severus was feeling much improved, but on the inside, he ached just to look around him. Maybe Minerva was back to blaming him, was out to torture him? But no, she had probably meant well, had been her now usual apologetic self when she had made the suggestion. Well, whatever her intentions had been, he would definitely be going back to Hogwarts tomorrow.

Hogwarts, where Granger was. He had thought about her way too much during the past days. As much as it irritated him, Poppy had been spot on about that.

 Even without a Pensieve, Severus was adept at re-examining memories from different angles; it was one of the directions in which he had taken his own personal brand of _Occlumency_. Albus, who had taught him the basics of the discipline long ago, had been fascinated by this technique, though his once-mentor had still preferred the use of a Pensieve.

After the first shock about the article, and about him and Granger clashing in his office, had worn off, Severus noticed other things about the exchange – in particular, he replayed one phrase. “I think it has spared _us_...”, she had said at some point, perfectly matter-of-fact. It meant nothing, of course. Though, if – implausible as it seemed – she was misguided enough to truly think of them as an _us_ , who was he to stop her?

He was still busy quenching the sudden feeling of longing that had welled up at this thought, when an owl tapped on one of the windows, carrying a letter for him. He did not open it for a long moment, simply kept looking at his name in her hand – _Severus Snape_ , it said in neat letters.

Then he cursed himself all kinds of a sentimental fool and tore open the envelope.


	16. Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disagreements between friends, a surprising companion, and an answer to a question asked some time ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're celebrating, I wish you Merry Christmas and/or Happy Holidays! (I might be posting at different times for the next few days, but I'll keep to a chapter a day)

On Sunday morning, Hermione was worried yet again. She hadn’t received a reply to her letter, and the more she thought about it, the less she liked what she had written.

_Dear Professor Snape,_

_You wanted to be left alone, I have not forgotten. I hope you don’t mind me writing to you; I have missed our conversations. Don’t be mad at Madam Pomfrey either, for telling me that you have gone to the seaside to convalesce..._

She had gone nattering on about all the insignificant things that had happened during the last week. In retrospect, it sounded childish to her. As did the address – the letter had finally forced her to confront the problem of what to call him. She had avoided addressing him by any name in private for some time now, if at all possible. Not having spoken about it, she’d had to revert to something that no longer fit for the friend – or more – she hoped he was.

After breakfast, Hermione left the Great Hall as soon as she could. The meal had been more than slightly awkward – Ron and Aidan couldn’t seem to keep their hands off each other; Harry was behaving weirdly around Luna, who appeared to be completely oblivious; Ginny and Neville were avoiding her gaze.

That last one was her fault – she had finally asked them about the wartime school year at Hogwarts, about Snape as headmaster. They had looked pained, but had answered at first, talking about the Carrows’ brutality, about Snape’s incredible spitefulness. Looking back, they had to acknowledge that it had masked how he wasn’t trying to hurt them (physically, at least), how he had indeed gotten them out of hairy situations more than once.

“I realise he helped us all along,” Ginny had said, “but it is difficult to forgive him, nevertheless. He was just so _mean_. He always knew what to throw at you that would really hurt.”

Hermione had nodded, had tried not to comment. Then, the conversation had taken a wrong turn, when Neville commented quietly,

“You want to know because you like him, don’t you? You’re kind of friends now, Harry said.”

Ginny hadn’t been able to accept that – she had refused to believe it, had wanted Hermione to deny it. Which she had not. That resulted in Ginny yelling at her (“Oh right, stupid me, I thought you were asking about us. Aren’t you a good friend? You’re never here and when you remember us once in a while it’s only because you care about that horrible man now?”). Neville had only gradually managed to calm her down, and had shooed Hermione away. Ginny had managed to avoid her very effectively, which was quite the feat, seeing as they shared a dorm room this year.

Hermione had been shocked at Ginny’s resentment – she had always felt they didn’t have all that much in common, so drifting away from her, after a brief period of closeness (when they had still been the ‘two victory-couples’, as the _Prophet_ had put it at the time), seemed perfectly normal to her.

Maybe it was different for Ginny; Hermione knew she herself was an anomaly where girl friendships were concerned. Basically, she didn’t really have them, although, for the most part, she got along fine with her dorm-mates. Ginny, on the other hand, didn’t care much for Lavender and Parvati. She had often hung out with several girls from her year in the past, none of whom had returned. Some were finishing their schooling elsewhere, and one girl by the name of Maria had died in the final battle.

She should have just left Ginny out of this, Hermione thought now, on her way out of the castle doors. She’d decided to go down to the lake, was sick off sitting alone in the courtyard – somehow, it had become less peaceful without Snape. On the steps, she nearly ran into two of the girls she’d just been thinking about – her dorm-mates. It was a beautiful sunny day, warm and quietly calm, but they were arguing. Hermione gave them a wide berth, which unfortunately didn’t prevent her from overhearing Lavender’s hissed complaint,

“You are a complete arsehole, Parvati! You must realise that I have tried everything – I just can’t remove them, and make-up looks completely ridiculous, you have seen it. In contrast to you, Hermione’s not looking at me like I’m somehow _lesser_ , just because...”

She rounded a corner with a relieved sigh, when none of them made a move to stop her. Lavender had surprised her this year. She’d returned a few weeks into term, and had been stared at mercilessly for the massive scarring that started on her cheek and went all the way down her neck; but the girl Hermione had once thought shallow had been holding her head up high ever since, instead of wallowing in self-pity.

She also went to the hospital wing on the full moon. Hermione, Ginny and Parvati had sworn not to tell anybody about that. Hermione had assumed the two girls were as close as ever, but from what she’d just heard, it appeared that, unlike herself, Parvati had some trouble adjusting to this non-beauty-queen-Lavender.

Maybe Ginny would like the new Lavender, Hermione reflected, and then berated herself for plotting how to get them to hang out with each other. That idea made her feel too much like she was trying to get rid of Ginny.

And maybe Ginny was right to be angry with her – didn’t it speak for itself that Hermione had really only paid attention again to what was going on with her friends and dorm-mates now that Snape had been out of the picture for a few days?

As if to prove that assumption, all thought about the problem left Hermione’s mind when she reached the shores of the lake and saw a long, thin figure slowly moving up the path from the gates. She suppressed the urge to run towards him, and crossed the meadow between her and the path at what she hoped looked like a leisurely pace.

Snape didn’t advance in his usual purposeful stride – though it didn’t seem as if he was walking slowly because he was in pain. He strolled, if that was a word that could apply to him. His outer robe hung from his arm, and a small suitcase was floating behind him.

A bird’s cry made Hermione look upwards. For a second, she thought she saw red and a slight glimmer of gold, but she was looking against the sunlight, so she gave it up.

When she cast her eyes back down again, Snape had seen her. She was still too far away to make out the look in his eyes, but, astonishingly enough, he left the path and came towards her. Hermione felt her broad smile falter slightly when she reminded herself of how they had parted, but she kept looking at him as he came to a halt directly in front of her.

“Granger.” he greeted gruffly.

Hermione couldn’t help it. She just had to imitate his tone, and felt she succeeded, replying only,

“Snape.”

Instead of berating her, he tilted his head, and Hermione wanted to hug him so very badly. She refrained with difficulty. After a few seconds of nearly-comfortable silence, she gestured towards the lake, to which silent suggestion he nodded.

When she stopped and made as if to sit on the grass, he held up a hand and lifted an item out of his case. It took her a second to place it. She had already sat down when she blurted out,

“You kept my blanket?”

It was indeed the blanket she had conjured several weeks ago. She remembered those dragon ornaments. Looking up, she saw that Snape’s face had closed off. _Oh no_.

He also seemed to be fighting a blush. Two hectic spots had appeared on his cheeks, which were otherwise pale once more.

Quickly, she asked him about the first thing she could think of (that had worked out once before, after all), and was given a lecture on preserving potions for inanimate objects. He still seemed a bit embarrassed when he lowered himself down to sit beside her, so she kept her face carefully neutral.

Luckily, she didn’t have to look far for a new topic of conversation. There, at the other end of the lake, a large speck of red zipped through the air.

“That... is that _Fawkes_?”

Snape huffed beside her, as if trying to convey annoyance, but he sounded rather... proud, maybe? when he replied.

“Yes. He appeared at the cottage this morning.”

He followed the bird’s movement with his eyes, and for a moment, it seemed like he’d elaborate, but then he sighed and said,

“I believe I owe you an apology.”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Snape turned to look at her and smirked a little at her gaping-fish-impression. He lifted a hand, but then let it fall back down without reaching out.

“Your assessment of my motives for reacting the way I did... well, there was some truth to it, I’m afraid.”

Hermione was dumbstruck. And he just went on.

“Thank you for your letter. I... was glad to receive it. I do believe I have come to my senses for the time being, but I’m certain it won’t last. Should you wish not to associate with me in future, I quite understand.”

She finally managed to get some words out.

“Don’t be absurd. And don’t be so harsh on yourself, you didn’t even yell at me, really.”

 _Only at Harry_ , she added privately, but knew better than to suggest he apologise to him... She tried for a small smile and, when it was returned in the corners of his eyes, she decided to add,

“It bothered me much more that I didn’t know where you were for the better part of a week.”

Snape was looking at her, eyes round with astonishment. Could he really be that oblivious?

“Then I apologize for that, as well,” he said gravely.

I’d much rather you believed how important you are to me, so you will not do it again, Hermione thought about saying, but then held herself back again. Somehow, things felt awkward between them, as they had never been since that first meeting, and, all of a sudden, she was second-guessing everything.

Fawkes flew right over their heads with a small cry and came back in an elegant curve to land next to Snape. She watched in fascination as the phoenix rubbed his head and golden beak against Snape’s shoulder in a trusting manner. A full-body shiver went through Snape, but he didn’t seem to notice it consciously. Carefully, she reached out to touch the shining red and gold plumage of the bird herself, and Fawkes let her, before flattering up into a nearby tree.

Snape sighed, sounding content. Hermione understood completely; the phoenix had a frankly astonishing calming effect. For a while, they just sat side by side, looking out at the sunlight on the surface of the lake. She was nearly dozing off (she hadn’t slept very well in far too long), eyes closing against the light, when Snape spoke up again.

“You remind me of someone I once knew.”

Hermione turned her head. Had she heard him right?

“What?”

“You asked me why, a while ago. You remind me of someone I once knew.”

“Oh.”

So they were finally talking about why he even put up with her. She reflected on what he had just said. The first person to come to mind, obviously, was Lily Potter – or Lily Evans, when he first knew her. Well. It didn’t need to be her. He couldn’t really have compared them, could he? But he had sounded so wistful...

“So would you prefer that I was...her?”

He looked quite taken aback.

“No! It is disconcerting sometimes; that is all.”

It wasn’t really adding up, Hermione found herself thinking. She frowned.

“So... is this a recent comparison you have drawn? I mean, until recently, you never seemed to...”

...care for me all that much. She had trailed off before she could say it. Snape looked as if he had heard the words, nevertheless, and he winced slightly.

“Perhaps I misspoke,” he said, and it sounded like he had to force his next words out. “We are talking about Lily Evans, you know that.”

Hermione nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. He was looking firmly at the ground.

“You have often reminded me of her in years past. Physically, you have some traits and mannerisms that resemble hers quite a lot. And then, you used to sometimes act like her; and at other times you behaved in a manner utterly opposite to hers – I don’t know which I hated more.”

Wow. Even in the past tense, that hurt. But Snape went on, still.

“It is different now; perhaps you are different. I am uncertain as to how to explain it. I do not see Lily in you as much anymore, it is just that on occasion, you seem very... familiar. I tend to forget we do not know each other all that well. Maybe that is what is so disconcerting.”

He didn’t look at all satisfied with his answer.

Hermione’s mind whirled. So... he had hated the way she resembled Lily, but now that the resemblance wasn’t as obvious anymore, he felt a kind of closeness to her because of it (unearned, on her part) – even though he still called the familiarity disconcerting? It truly didn’t make much more sense than it had before his attempt at an explanation.

One thing, however, seemed quite clear. One way or another, she was a substitute for Lily. She instinctively recoiled from that realisation. Then, Snape said quietly,

“Let me be clear about this: you are not a replacement for Lily.”

Hermione drew back as if slapped. She stopped herself when she realised that one or two arm lengths of distance would hardly make a difference.

“Are you using _Legilimency_ on me?”

Her voice had gone very shrill once again. Snape’s eyes shot up at her, but darted away again just as quickly.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I did not even look at you.”

It sounded like ‘silly girl’ was on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t say it. Instead he took a deep breath, clearly trying to reign in his anger.

“I would not do that without your explicit permission.” He sounded somewhat disappointed that she would think so.

A deep sigh followed, while Hermione, feeling stupid, slipped back onto the blanket. He didn’t go back to the topic at hand, so she felt compelled to say something.

“I’m going to take your word for it.”

He looked more than a little affronted, and Hermione quickly clarified,

“Not the _Legilimency_. About... the other thing.”

Very eloquently put, my dear Hermione. Snape might have had a similar thought; she saw the corners of his mouth twitch, but he reigned in the burgeoning smile. She thought that it would probably be easier said than done, not to constantly analyse all of his actions, not to wonder how she compared to Lily Potter...

Then, she felt a touch against her hand, and only just stopped herself from looking down. Shifting her gaze to the expanse of water in front of them instead, she didn’t hold back her smile as his hand covered hers.

~---~

Severus was holding, well, not his breath, but his thought, so to speak. For once, without the application of any kind of mental technique, his mind had gone blank. He was just sitting there, experiencing the feeling of his hand lying over hers. She hadn’t made any move to pull away. It amazed him still.

After a while, he started moving his thumb up and down a little. A caress. Something so small most assuredly had no right to feel this good. He knew he would soon wish for more, had already done so, as a matter of fact. Right now, he was content like this, however.

Gradually, he became aware of his surroundings again. In the distance, voices could be heard. On this sunny Sunday, the shores of the lake would soon be teeming with students. Even at the risk of being discovered like this, he kept still for a few moments longer.

He felt a strange sense of relief, for having talked to Hermione about Lily. Severus had decided last week that he had to, that it wasn’t right not to tell her. And even if he had been reluctant, fearing a much more adverse reaction than the one he had gotten (although it remained to be seen whether she would distance herself in future), he now had the impression that what hold Lily still had on him was lessening.

She would never be completely gone, of course. Lily had been larger than life, practically from the moment he had met her. Too kind, too beautiful, too clever. And later, too hurtful, as well.

The woman sitting next to him was kind and beautiful and clever in her own right, and it made him fear for how much she might be able to hurt him. Yet somehow, her presence didn’t feel as overwhelming.

To the extent that he was still able to do so, he wasn’t playing a role with her. Severus couldn’t remember doing that, or trusting someone enough to even attempt it, ever before. He had known how to keep his guard up all his life.

When the first black, school-robed dots appeared in his line of sight, he stood reluctantly, offered a hand to help her up, let go of that hand even more reluctantly. Together, they walked back to the castle in silence.

On the steps, the headmistress was waiting.


	17. Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharing an almost-kiss, a success and a memory.

Minerva McGonagall was looking at them strangely. Hermione was relieved to notice that it might have something to do with the large phoenix that had followed them in the air and had now apparently decided to land on Snape’s shoulder.

The headmistress took an involuntary step backwards, as large wings nearly knocked off her hat. Hermione didn’t know how, but Severus Snape managed to look elegant even with an overlarge bird on his shoulder.

McGonagall visibly composed herself. Then she greeted Snape a bit stiffly and informed him that she would like to talk to him. Hermione got the hint and excused herself, not without asking Snape whether they would be brewing later. He told her he wasn’t sure yet, but would send a note.

This time, the headmistress’ strange look definitely fell on them. Oh well, there was nothing to be done about it.

She spent her day revising; a few hours with Harry and Ron, and several more alone. She had actually lost sight of the fact that the NEWT exams would start in about four weeks – they had been moved up to the end of May, as teachers would have nearly twice as many copies to correct this year before they would send them on to the ministry for the final evaluation.

When, in the late afternoon, she got an invitation from Snape to join him in the workroom at her convenience, she gladly put her books away.

“I don’t know how I always managed to go completely overboard with my revising before,” she said to Snape a few minutes later. Because she had come down to the dungeons immediately, he had asked her if she ‘didn’t have better things to do’. He hadn’t sounded as if he really wanted her to say yes to that, however.

“There is just no need to know everything by heart when one has grasped the principles,” she continued. “And actually I always knew that, I just convinced myself I had to work like an idiot nevertheless.”

Snape looked very amused.

“What?” she asked.

One of his crooked grins unfurled on his face.

“I have tried to tell you this for years.”

She raised her eyebrows at that, but realised he was right. He was one of the few teachers who really valued original thought over stoic memorization, even if one tended to forget it because of the dislike he had for experimentation in his classroom.

“So, what happened to the rule book, Miss Granger?” he asked, still smirking.

In a gesture she hadn’t ever seen on him before, he was stroking his chin in an exaggerated manner.

“Oh, do shut up.” She rolled her eyes, laughing.

“Why don’t you come here and make me?”

What? Hermione stared at him, shocked into silence.

“Sorry,” he murmured, his sudden manifestation of bravado gone, and looked away.

Hesitantly, she stepped towards him, reached up, took his face in her hands. His eyes fell closed, but he opened them again.

“Not yet,” he whispered.

He was right, of course, in not giving in to his temporary lapse. She gave him the hug she had held back this morning instead. It had the added bonus of hiding the expression on her face, which surely was some kind of representation of the immense longing she felt.

As always, it took a moment for him to relax into her touch, but then he buried his face in her hair. Enveloped in his arms, she realised that this wasn’t a hug. It was an embrace. They might as well have kissed.

Snape seemed to notice it himself; he pulled away after a few seconds. One of his hands moved over her hairline, as if to capture an unruly lock. Hermione suspected there wasn’t one, seeing as she had pulled up her hair in a tight bun earlier, but she was certainly not going to call him out on it.

He turned away rather abruptly.

“Let’s get to work.”

As usual by now, they worked in silence. Hermione took out her wand and spelled a knife to cut some of the base ingredients (it was always tricky to prepare ingredients magically, but she had seen Snape do the same a few weeks earlier). She kept an eye on the cutting process while she watched him prepare the cauldron and check his containment spells. He was turning something round and round in his hands as he worked – the blue disc she had given him.

When he saw her observing him, he put the object down, looking caught out. Hermione smiled and went back to her work. She longed for a kiss still, now that she had an inkling that he might feel the same. It was a constant hum in the background of her mind. _Not yet_ , she told herself, like a mantra. As unwelcome as they had been in the moment, in retrospect, his words reassured her of his regard. It certainly seemed as if he was counting the days as well.

The intense bout of concentration during the complicated brewing was followed by the lull of waiting for the modified Pensieve solution to cool down. In the meantime, Snape was rearranging one of his ingredient shelves. He carefully put two long red and gold feathers in a box and shelved it.

“So, where is Fawkes staying?” Hermione asked. Large windows for phoenixes to fly through were in rather short supply down here, after all.

“In my quarters,” Snape replied distractedly, but then looked up, having finished. “What is it? Spit it out.”

Hermione felt stupid.

“I assumed your quarters were here in the dungeons.”

He smirked.

“I wouldn’t do anything to dispel that myth. Oh, don’t look at me like that. They’re a few flights of stairs above this room, if you must know.”

Of course; the workroom hat to be the base of one of the smaller towers, she should have realised that. She looked around, searching for a staircase.

“Behind that shelf over there,” Snape murmured, when he caught on to what she was doing. He started decanting the potion.

“Sorry, none of my business. Did the headmistress have something to say about Fawkes, then?”

Hermione knew it was a very transparent attempt at information-gathering on the rest of their conversation, but she was too curious as to what they had talked about. Snape shook his head slightly at her question.

“You would have made a truly terrible Slytherin.”

He walked over to the Pensieve and poured the liquid in, as he nevertheless answered her question.

“It was uncomfortable. She didn’t say anything about it, but I assume the bird constantly reminded her of Albus.”

He extracted a strand of memory with his wand. Hermione was painfully reminded of what she had assumed to be his final moments in the _Shrieking Shack_ a year ago.

“To answer your unasked question: aside from last week’s lessons, we also discussed my health,” he looked as if he had bitten into something sour, “and our new Defence teacher problem.”

“Has he resigned?”

Snape paused to look at her, the memory thread hanging from his wand, moving slowly through the air.

“No. I reckon that would have warranted a full staff meeting so close to the exams. I am referring to the problem of him maintaining discipline in his classroom.”

He finally lowered the memory into the stone basin, and raised his eyebrows as he observed it.

“Come here,” he said. Hermione went over, to see a silvery swirling mist, indistinct shapes rising up from it now and then. That was... how it should be.

“Do you want to test it?” he asked.

She nodded, but asked permission again to be sure.

“May I?”

“Be my guest,” he said. “I’ll stay here to pull you out, should there be any trouble.”

She touched the shimmering surface, and the workroom was gone. Instead, there was a medium sized living room, crammed with knick-knacks and books. Snape stood by a window, a pair of horn-rimmed black glasses in his hand. He hadn’t worn them since he was back. One of the many books in the room was lying open on the sofa; maybe he mainly needed them for reading? But hadn’t Pomfrey said he was near-sighted?

Memory-Snape was still looking out the window. Perhaps that was all there was to this, the scene had only been extracted for test purposes, after all. But no, as she approached him – knowing he would see right through her, but still dismayed by the fact – Hermione realised that a small dot on the horizon, barely visible in the twilight, was growing larger. Fawkes.

Instead of watching the phoenix approach, her eyes were drawn to Snape. She saw him narrow his eyes to slits and pull on the glasses. Absently, she noted that they looked good on him, but her main focus was on the changes in his expression. She had never seen him so unguarded. There was open shock on his face as he recognised the phoenix. Then, sadness. Grief. Followed by amazement, a smile. Pride, like she had heard in his voice this afternoon.

In an almost trance-like, clearly unconscious movement, he opened the window to let in the bird of rebirth. And Hermione was yanked back into the present, stumbling a little as she moved away from the Pensieve.

Snape was looking at her, his face schooled into careful impassivity.

“Thank you,” she said.

The lines of his face contorted slightly at her whispered words, and then smoothed out again. She decided not to comment further on the immensely private thing he had just showed her, continuing instead with,

“It worked perfectly, as far as I can tell. I have one question, though.”

He looked a bit apprehensive, she thought, but she knew how to wipe that expression from his face.

“Why aren’t you wearing your glasses?”

She relished the look of astonishment that replaced the apprehension. He rummaged in his robe pockets and pulled out the pair of spectacles.

“I don’t like them. I am used to correction spells, but they have ceased working after the healing process for the curse.”

Hermione wisely refrained from telling him that she knew that already. All she said was,

“I do like them.”

Snape seemed more than a little incredulous, but he put the glasses on. Instantly, some of his less permanent frown lines smoothed out, as the strain on his eyes from trying to correct his sight was removed.

Hermione gave him a bright smile and changed tack.

“So, we have created an alternate recipe for Potions solution, then?”

Snape huffed loudly.

“We might have. More than a few things remain to be done before we can be certain; as well you should be aware. Come on, let’s have them, please.”

Well of course he would be the type to relativise his achievement.

“Observe the behaviour of the potion over time, test for possible side effects, recreate it a number of times, determine its shelf-life,” she recited.

“Very good, Miss Granger,” he replied in his best classroom tone.

“What, no points, sir?” she shot back.

He raised his brows, mirth in his eyes.

“For an answer I knew you could provide?” he drawled.

She tried for an annoyed look, but knew she hadn’t quite managed when he laughed quietly.

“Would you care for a drink?” he asked suddenly.

“Oh. I thought... not yet?” she couldn’t help but be astonished at the suggestion to go out.

“I only meant a drink here, to... celebrate”, Snape clarified, looking uncertain.

“Of course. Yes, that would be nice,” she heard herself say.

“Wait here,” was all he replied before moving away a shelf with his wand and disappearing up a spiral staircase.

~---~

Severus cursed himself. What was he doing? He had refrained with difficulty from kissing Hermione earlier, and now he thought it a good idea to offer her a drink? At least he had stopped himself from inviting her upstairs.

Minerva would have a fit if she knew about any of it. He remembered vividly the thin line of her mouth as she had watched Granger leave this morning, the clipped words as she deemed it necessary to remind him that a romantic relationship with a student was expressly forbidden outside of a formal courtship. He remembered, too, how she had stopped his heated, “I assure you...” quite effectively by saying, “Don’t lie to me and tell me there is nothing there, Severus. Just promise you’ll wait.”

He had been annoyed at his apparent transparency – first Poppy, now this... and they both seemed to be more sure about it all than he was. He had swallowed his reply and had only nodded stiffly. A part of him was glad that Minerva had started to leave ‘apologetic’ behind when she spoke to him. It hadn’t suited her all that much. Maybe, if he saw her without Fawkes next time, they could have a nearly normal conversation.

Looking around in his living room, he located two wineglasses and a small bottle of elf-made mead on the sideboard – it had been a gift from Albus, he remembered with a pang of sadness. Fawkes cooed at him from a perch Severus had transfigured, which now stood by the half-opened door that went out to the balcony.

The melancholy lessened, but he scowled at the bird, feeling as if he had been placated too easily. Fawkes tilted his head and let out a trill of song.

“All right, you win,” Severus murmured, turning towards the stairs.

It was truly difficult to stay bitter with a phoenix by one’s side.


	18. Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a whiskey guy, special stomach soother, a watchful phoenix.

Hermione sat on one of the workbenches, swinging her legs back and forth. The doorway to the winding stairs was beckoning, so she distracted herself with revising her NEWT schedule. Talking to Snape had made it even clearer in her mind that she didn’t need her usual excessive preparations any longer. She was beginning to have a bit more faith in her abilities.

Pulling out a calendar, Hermione realised with a start that the anniversary of the final battle was coming up a week from now – she very much hoped that the headmistress would not let any reporters into the castle for the occasion, as she had promised. Luckily, they had all managed to get out of the various events that were organised on that day, mainly in London.

She heard Snape come back down the stairs. He avoided her gaze as he set a bottle and two glasses down on one of the workbenches and poured what looked like mead. She would have taken him for a whiskey guy, and said as much.

He looked at her, a taxing look.

“I don’t usually drink at all.”

Oh, right. That worked just as well for the image she had of him. He handed her a glass and lifted his, clearly intend on proposing a toast.

“To both our names in Potions Quarterly by the end of the year,” he said.

Hermione was too astonished to remember taking a sip of her wine.

“But, I haven’t really...” she started to protest.

He looked genuinely angry with her as he interrupted,

“Haven’t you? It might have taken me years to arrive at that exact combination of moonstone, bristling nettles, hazelnut oil, gillyweed and _Thestral hair_ , of all things, to replace those rare ingredients, if it were not for your clever little device there. You realise that this,” he took the disc in hand, “has the power to make you quite famous, don’t you?”

She only stared at him, speechless.

“Famous for your cleverness, in addition to being famous for your bravery, I meant to say,” Snape added as an afterthought.

She realised she had taken too long to reply (but what was she meant to say to _that_?), when Snape asked her whether she intended to keep her discovery a secret. The question sounded as if it was meant seriously, so Hermione got a hold of herself and hastened to reply that she wouldn’t dream of keeping researchers from using such a useful tool.

Snape’s amusement coloured his reply.

 “Evidently.”

Then he added, in a grim voice,

“If you consent to a joint article, I might even convince them to print my part in it, as well.”

Even as she replied, Hermione knew it was the wrong thing to say.

“Don’t forget that you’re a hero now.”

She watched as he grimaced, as his face closed off.

“It’s getting late, Granger.”

Stupid. That had been so avoidably stupid.

“Yes,” she agreed with a sigh, but did not, despite his reaction to her words, refrain from a kiss on the cheek as she said goodnight. When she drew back, his eyes had softened considerably, though he did not reciprocate in any way other than to pronounce a slightly terse “Goodnight”.

Hermione was already out of the classroom door when she stopped short, then turned around. As the doors opened for her automatically, she had a few seconds to observe Snape unguarded, before he noticed she had come back.

He had slumped against the wall and was rubbing at his eyes with the backs of his hands, his glasses dangling from two fingers. He was muttering something to himself.

She politely knocked at the open door of the workroom and saw Snape pull himself together rather violently. Spine straight, he barked,

“What is it?”

Hermione nearly recoiled at the vehemence of it, but stopped herself when she recalled how he used to respond to that kind of reaction over the years. Instead she went up to him, managing a faint, if slightly pained smile.

“I remembered that, if you don’t know already, I should tell you that the ministry is organising some kind of commemoration-celebration on the anniversary of the final battle next weekend. The headmistress, thankfully, has managed to get all of us students out of it – we were invited weeks ago. I’m afraid that after recent developments, you might be put on the guest list...”

She waited for Snape to get angry and saw him groan instead.

“Sorry,” she murmured automatically. He looked up sharply at that.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, as long as you did not suggest my name to them.”

She shook her head vigorously, sending curls flying. He actually smiled at her for it. He murmured,

“If Potter’s anything like me, I understand very well why he hates this sort of thing...”

And then looked just as shocked as she felt at what he’d just said. Before Hermione could comment, Snape gave a shout of pain and clutched his stomach. He folded in the middle, stumbled, and leant his upper body on the nearest workbench, pushing his midsection into its edge.

Hermione started asking frantic questions, and complied immediately when he hissed,

“Bathroom, special stomach soother.”

She didn’t dare to accio the bottle for fear that some door between the workroom and the bathroom might be closed, and sprinted through the open passageway and up the stairs instead. Without sparing a second look for the spacious living room, or the phoenix she saw from the corner of her eye, she muttered, “Bathroom. Point me.” An _Alohomora_ and an _Accio_ later, she was hastening down the stairs again as fast as she dared.

Snape tried to stand up when he saw her, but collapsed again just as quickly, so she laid a hand on his sweaty brow, tipped his head upwards and poured the potion into his open mouth. After a few seconds, he relaxed visibly and slid down to the floor. Hermione crouched down next to him. He held up a hand to forestall her questions.

After a few minutes, Snape spoke up in a weak voice.

“Side effect from swallowing a year’s worth of generic antidotes to poison. I suspect the alcohol was not a good idea. You see, I was waiting for Minerva or one of the others to slip me poison, in the beginning. It would have been such a Gryffindor thing to do.”

Hermione didn’t follow.

“What, poisoning?”

He shook his head.

“Well, yes and no. I meant the symbolism. Dying from something I might have created myself, for the Dark Lord even – it would have appealed to her sense of justice, don’t you think?”

The idea sounded slightly delirious to her, but she tried for a serious reply,

“I do not think of her as coldly calculating enough to do it.”

She saw Snape’s jaw muscles strain, as he forced out,

“She had picked up quite a few things from Albus, I assure you.”

Hermione knew it wasn’t fair to ask Snape while he was vulnerable, but she didn’t let it stop her from doing just that.

“Do you hate him? For what he did to you?”

Snape blew air out from between his lips.

“No. It was a good plan. And until the Unbreakable Vow came into it, it was a horrific choice, but a choice nevertheless. Not that Albus presented it that way, he ordered me to do it. But the Vow made it a form of compulsion in that moment – I haven’t forgiven Narcissa for taking that illusion of a choice away.”

Oh. She hadn’t expected that at all. He had seemed so worried about Mrs. Malfoy...

“But you do care for her?”

Snape looked at her, grimacing again, though if it was from physical or emotional pain, she couldn’t really tell.

“More so for Draco’s sake than for hers, I think. I want something to become of him after everything... Draco was always Lucius’ boy, for better or for worse, but he might be able to listen to her now. Narcissa was never as radical as Lucius – she’s more of an opportunist. I believe she was responsible for the fact that Lucius managed to keep his standing in society after the first war... I should lie down,” he finished abruptly.

He assured Hermione that there was nothing to do but wait it out – yes, he had talked to Poppy about it. He needed aid getting up, however, and she decided to at least help him up the stairs. Snape looked mutinous, but didn’t protest. To cheer him up, she told him about Draco’s astonishing behaviour in Zarantuwa’s ill-fated Potions class on the way up.

“I didn’t tell you – the headmistress will want to talk to you and Mr. Morwen tomorrow about the Defence classes”, Snape forced out, more than slightly out of breath. Hermione acknowledged the statement and asked him which door led to his bedroom, but had to look away under his withering stare.

“You will leave now.”

His tone brooked no argument, though he added a more soft-spoken,

“Thank you for your help.”

Hermione was reluctant to just leave him. On impulse, she went over to Fawkes, who was sitting majestically on his perch, and whispered to him to watch over his man. Fawkes trilled quietly. Without caring to look whether Snape had heard her words, Hermione left for the second time, throwing a “Goodnight” over her shoulder.

~---~

Severus cursed more than once on his way, first to the bathroom and then to the bedroom. His special stomach soother had helped a great deal, but these attacks always left him trembling and weak – just now, several things had slipped out of his hands in the bath and he’d nearly lost his balance more than once.

He thought he might have seen pity in Hermione’s eyes earlier, and it made his insides roil in a completely different manner. Surely she must think him an old and broken man. There was probably no need to wait for another almost-kiss, then.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” he heard Albus’ voice from long ago. In combination with the physical discomfort he still experienced, keeping to that advice turned out to be bloody difficult. He fell onto his bed with a sigh and a wince, and crawled under his covers – a large, spider-thin man in a foetal position.


	19. Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Zarantuwa problem, a nice and handsome head boy and an annoying fuzzball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a short chapter, I think I'll post the next one later today, as well :-)

Xavier Morwen, a quiet seventh year Ravenclaw, who, to everybody’s surprise, had been made head boy at the start of term, came up to Hermione in the middle of breakfast. He arrived at an inopportune moment, as Hermione was desperately trying to listen in on a conversation a group of Gryffindor fourth years was having several seats down from her.

One of them had apparently seen Snape with Fawkes yesterday, and to her surprise a heated debate had broken out about whether the potions master could indeed have been ‘chosen’ by a phoenix. She heard some claim about ‘purity of the soul’ being a prerequisite, but had to stop straining her ears when Xavier arrived.

One simply had to listen to Xavier once he started talking – the tall, dark-haired boy had a deep voice and a natural authority, which he used sparingly and which he had, to her knowledge, never abused. In hindsight, he had been an inspired choice for head boy. Hermione stood up when he told her that the headmistress wished to see them before class. She smiled apologetically at Harry and Ron, who had their mouths full, and gave a slightly awkward wave to Ginny, who was still avoiding her gaze.

McGonagall had already left the Great Hall and was waiting for them in her old office off the first-floor corridor, which hadn’t changed all that much since she’d become headmistress. Hermione suspected that she preferred it to the more remote tower office she nevertheless occupied most of the time.

Xavier had barely closed the door behind them, when McGonagall said,

“We have a discipline problem in Defence.”

Straight to the point, then.

Xavier had more or less the same reaction she had had yesterday.

“So Professor Zarantuwa hasn’t resigned yet?”

The headmistress stared him down and he lowered his eyes to the ground.

“Is this what is happening here? Your fellow students are trying to drive him out?”

The head boy stayed silent, so Hermione spoke up.

“I do not think it is a conscious effort, but I believe it would please them very much, should that happen.”

When she saw the strange looks McGonagall and Xavier were shooting her, she realised she had sounded like Snape at his most stilted. She went on quickly.

“I’m afraid I have had much on my mind and have not made enough effort to stop them, though I doubt it would have helped. But I apologize for that.”

The headmistress waved her hand, as if shooing away a fly.

“That is not what matters right now, Miss Granger. We need a solution, at least until the end of term. I am unwilling to humiliate the man by removing him from his post, and cannot easily do so at this point in any case. Tell me, the both of you, why this has escalated now and not earlier in the term?”

Xavier, who, as a Ravenclaw, hadn’t been in the infamous class, nodded towards Hermione again. She cleared her throat and told McGonagall about the disastrous potions lesson, and Zarantuwa’s already thin-worn respect stemming from DADA teaching that was bordering on incompetence, too.

McGonagall looked weary when Hermione had finished.

“I cannot speak to the students or give the man teaching assistants – that would only worsen the situation. I doubt he will agree to joint lessons with our recently rehabilitated expert...”

It took a moment for Hermione to understand she was talking about Snape. She protested,

“You can’t give him a double course load anyway, he is still recovering!”

She got a ‘you’ve reminded me that we are going to talk about this, young lady’-look from the headmistress for that, and cursed herself. Luckily, she managed a distraction by venturing an idea that had just occurred to her.

“What about guest lecturers? Could he agree to that? We could tell the students it was planned from the beginning, bring in a few Order members?”

McGonagall said she thought she could convince Zarantuwa. When she mentioned concerns that it would be unfair to the graduating students, who should not get guest lectures, but NEWT revision classes at this point, Hermione and Xavier had to suppress their laughs. The headmistress looked a bit sour when they reminded her of the lack of preparation they had had for most of their DADA exams. They asserted confidently that the collective intelligence of the class surpassed Professor Zarantuwa’s knowledge by far.

As the two students left, still discussing the problem, Hermione nearly ran into Snape, who was rounding a corner with a book opened in his hands.

“Good morning! Feeling better?” she asked brightly when they had both steadied themselves. Snape glared at Xavier, who hurried away with a mumbled “see you later” towards Hermione. Snape kept staring after him, before he answered in clipped tones,

“Yes. Have you come up with a solution?”

Hermione explained briefly, and he deemed it “acceptable.”

It was only after he had left, bent once again over his book, and after she had mulled over his behaviour while on the way to her first class, that she got the idea that he might have somehow been jealous because she had been walking with nice and handsome Xavier. She would have liked to dismiss the thought – he had known about their meeting, and it was only logical to assume they would be walking away from it together, after all. But then, jealousy was rarely logical.

Her suspicion grew stronger, when, for some reason, Xavier came over again at dinner that night to discuss strategies for reigning in the pranks against Zarantuwa, and she caught Snape looking at her and then quickly averting his eyes more than once. She borrowed Pigwidgeon to send him a note about brewing on Friday. Even with her revised NEWT schedule, she suspected it would be the last time she’d have time for it for several weeks.

_Join me if you are amenable_ , his brief answer read. There was a post scriptum that made her laugh: _Please keep that annoying fuzzball away from Fawkes and myself_. She showed it to Harry, who was sitting next to her, and the next thing she knew, Ron and Neville wanted to hear what had Harry in tears of laughter, and even Ginny came over. She grimaced when she discovered the source of their merriment, but she still had to smile as Harry painted a vivid imaginary picture of Pig chirping and fluttering around Severus Snape’s head.

Hermione decided it was a good moment to ask the group of mainly pure-bloods surrounding her about phoenix legends and soul purity. Ron explained very seriously, as he often was with this kind of thing, that most people believed that phoenixes were drawn to ‘pure, innocent souls’ and that somebody who had been chosen by a phoenix deserved respect on that count alone. He finished,

“Can’t be true, really, though, if you look at Snape. No, ‘Mione, even you can’t claim that he hasn’t done some bad things in his life. I don’t know about pure, but innocent, his soul is not!”

She didn’t argue. Soon, the discussions moved on to other things, but she resolved to find out more about the topic before Friday.

As with most myths and legends in the wizarding world, her book research proved frustrating – everything was vague, or clearly false. She would have to breach the topic with Snape himself, if she wanted an answer.

~---~

In another part of the castle, the man attached to the supposedly ‘pure soul’ was restless. An invitation to the ministry ceremony on Sunday had arrived. He would have discarded it immediately, had it not been signed by Kingsley, with a short note in the former Auror’s hand that read: ‘ _Please consider it, Severus. I would prefer to have at least a few sensible people there. Yours, Kingsley_ ”.

Invited by the Minister – there had been a time, when Severus was young and stupid, where he would have given a lot for that. And now, for the first time in a very long time, the Minister actually was a tolerable man, as well.

He thought about the press, their no doubt unflattering photographs and horrible questions, and suddenly wished Hermione Granger was here with him, so he could ask her for advice on whether to go to the event or stay away. Merlin, he couldn’t start relying on the girl (woman, his mind insisted) like this! After seeing her with that Morwen boy, he had nearly convinced himself that he wouldn’t be the centre of her attention for very much longer, and now he discovered he apparently couldn’t think for himself anymore? How utterly despicable.

Severus hoped for his peace of mind that she wouldn’t come on Friday. No, really, he did.


	20. Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A close call, phoenix lore, and realisations on both sides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second chapter I had promised for today. We're about halfway through now :-) As usual, comments are very much appreciated!

Hermione knew she was early for the brewing on Friday (overeagerness was to blame), but she only appreciated how early she really was when she stood in an empty workroom, having come down directly from a rather hasty dinner. Snape hadn’t been at dinner, so that might serve as an excuse for thinking he was here already.

Suddenly, she heard a heavy thud from upstairs, followed by what sounded like a string of curse words, and therefore had no qualms about moving the shelf and running up the stairs. The sight that greeted her was priceless. Snape was just standing up from where he had apparently fallen onto the floor. He had several red feathers in his hair and on his robes, his glasses were askew, and Fawkes was hovering over him, clutching a broom in his claws. When Hermione hurried towards Snape, he turned a light shade of red.

After she had repeated her question of what had happened several times, Snape shot her an annoyed look and explained that he had been trying out his broom, which he hadn’t flown in a long time. The pinkness of his face was explained when he murmured,

“I forgot to check with the standard security charms – someone must have hexed it; it bucked and threw me of. Fawkes dove under me and deposited me back in here a bit forcefully.”

_You might have died!_ screamed Hermione’s heart, but she smiled and plucked a few feathers out of his hair, instead of voicing the thought. Seeing her do this didn’t help in the slightest to turn Snape’s face back to its normal colour. She’d long since given up on fighting the idea that he was cute – she only hoped he’d never see her think it or hear her say it. He grabbed her wrists when she started on his robes and said quietly,

“I’ll do it.”

Hermione didn’t protest – she turned her attention to the broom that Fawkes was still holding out to them. The diagnostic spell revealed a ‘bucking bronco’ curse. How unimaginative. She told Snape as much, and he agreed wholeheartedly. It might have been cast by a student as early as last year, he explained. Hermione hoped it hadn’t been Ginny.

She went over to where Fawkes had settled down on his perch, and thanked him quietly. Looking at the bird, she remembered to ask Snape about phoenix lore, before they went down to the workroom. His piercing gaze had her squirming, and before she knew it, she had told him what she had heard so far. Snape made a scoffing noise.

“There’s a misconception that phoenixes are drawn to ‘pure souls’ – the usual idiotic statement by people who’d prefer that the truth was simple rather than complex.”

Hermione gave him a ‘go on’-nod. He looked reluctant, but continued.

“Someone ... ‘Someone’. Well – _my mother_ used to tell me that phoenixes stay with those who have lived tragedy or have been damaged, and are not seeking to propagate that damage further. With Albus, I think one could say it turned out to be true, for the most part. As far as I’m concerned... I am unsure if the bird isn’t just confused.”

Fawkes made a protesting noise that made Hermione smile – it sounded as if he was truly vexed. If this was what Snape believed (and he had sounded nearly reverent when he’d said it even as he tried to hide it) she understood better now why Snape had been so proud when Fawkes had shown up.

There was a slightly awkward silence. As was becoming customary, it was broken by one of them – in this case Snape – suggesting they start working. They went downstairs, and Hermione was a bit shocked to find she would get her own cauldron and ingredients to prepare. Snape reasoned that it would be faster if they brewed two samples – they would have their data about the required number of replications twice as fast.

Hermione thought about voicing her doubts relative to managing the complex and fast brewing process alone, but didn’t. It was still too much of a novelty to see that he trusted her work, for her to discourage him from doing just that. She lined the prepared ingredients up perfectly, revised the process mentally, and got on with it.

When she finally extinguished the fire to let the potion cool off, she was sweating profusely even in the residual winter coolness that still clung to the dungeon walls. Snape was watching her, having finished a few minutes earlier. He tilted his head.

“You could make a career in potions. I wouldn’t recommend it, but you could.”

Hermione latched on to the relativization first and asked, knowing she would sound a bit miffed,

“Why wouldn’t you recommend it?”

Snape rolled his eyes at her.

“You would be very good at it, but not brilliant. I would think Transfiguration or Arithmancy a better choice.”

He was right, of course, and Hermione told herself to take it as a compliment. Coming from Snape, it certainly was one. She said, with a smile, though she wasn’t at all happy about the idea,

“Well, you will have to work without me for the next weeks, I’m afraid. I’ll need the time for NEWTs preparations and...”

She trailed off when she saw the look that crossed his face. Together with her suspicions of jealousy on his part, it made her react instinctively. She stepped up to him and framed his face in her hands.

“No, don’t... I’m as unhappy about this as...” – ‘as you look’, she didn’t say.

“...as can be. It is just for a few weeks, though.”

And afterwards, she would only be at Hogwarts for a few weeks more. But that was another thing she did not say.

She drew down his frowning face and kissed the bridge of his nose, right on the spot between his eyebrows, where the frown was worst. His eyelids had fluttered shut, she saw, when she drew back from the light touch. Without opening his eyes, Snape brought up his arms and enveloped her in a hug.

“You already know me too well,” he murmured into her hair.

Hermione whispered into his robes,

“No, not nearly well enough. I suspect I never will, as much as I might try.”

They stood in silence for a while, only their quiet breaths filling the room with sound, until Snape let his arms fall and took a few steps back. He summoned a paper from somewhere and said, not really looking at her,

“I’m thinking about going to the Ministry event.”

He held out the invitation, which contained a personal note from Kingsley. After having read it, Hermione said quietly,

“I can’t go with you, now that the headmistress has lobbied to get us out of it because of exam preparations.”

Snape stared at her.

“That is not at all what I... I wondered what you thought about the idea.”

The words seemed to cost him, and Hermione was a little astonished that he would even think to ask her opinion. She turned it around in her head for a while. Finally, she said,

“If you can stand it, I think you should go. You can see for yourself whether and how people’s opinions have evolved. Also, if you are absent, they will speculate wildly. As they will be doing about Ron, Harry, Neville, Ginny, Luna and me, I’m sure.”

He made a face of such distaste that she had to stop herself from kissing the expression away again. _I love you_ , she thought, and it didn’t even shock her anymore. It was one of the fundamental truths she knew about herself now. Nevertheless, she was glad Snape had momentarily turned away from her, to put her potion in the Pensieve.

“I will go, then,” he said. Still focussing on the liquid he was pouring into the stone basin, he continued,

“This seems like a good moment to start testing the longevity of the solution and to look for any long-term memory-corrosiveness. We will resume brewing after your exams.”

Hermione was oddly touched at his decision not to brew the Pensieve solution without her. She lingered, knowing there wasn’t really anything left to talk about this evening, but reluctant to leave all the same. She fuzzed around for a while, cleaning the workstations and the cutting instruments, until Snape’s voice broke the silence.

“Hermione – Miss Granger.”

He corrected himself immediately, looking a bit flustered. Hermione could do nothing about the huge smile that had overtaken her face.

“I will see you in the courtyard now and then, I trust?” Snape continued, not looking at her.

“Certainly...” A step towards him, a kiss on the cheek – well, more on the corner of his mouth, actually. A whispered “...Severus.”

She got out of the door and through the classroom in quick strides, feeling daring, and a little silly. Severus, Severus, Severus, she heard her voice echo in her head again and again on the way back to Gryffindor tower.

~---~

Severus stood still as the seconds ticked away on the enchanted mechanical watch he had recently hung on the wall (a consequence of forgetting to cast _Tempus_ regularly during morning brewing sessions and nearly being late for his classes on more than one occasion).

After an amount of time that might have indicated careful deliberation, but was in reality spent with idle reflections on a certain witch, he finally admitted to himself that he was in way too deep to continue pretending he could distance himself. She had never drawn away when he expected her to – it was time to take the risk of consciously allowing her closer.

_When she finishes school_ , Severus told himself, no earlier. It would be extremely foolish. He was getting impatient, however, and reminded himself sternly what had come of the very few impulsive decisions in his life.

Becoming a Death Eater had been no more than a vague idea, born from a distinct lack of other prospects and a desire to show them, to just show them all who they had messed with. The final decision had come rather suddenly after a series of humiliating encounters at school. He had learned to regret it so very soon afterwards, and forever more. In contrast, going to Dumbledore to betray Voldemort had been mulled over and over in his head until he finally reached a decision.

He forbade himself from comparing anything to do with Hermione to those horrific times. It wasn’t that hard to get his mind off the past tonight – he just had to remember the way she had said his name. She was truly a masterful sorceress, if she could make even such a stern and harsh word sound beautiful.

Smiling to himself, his mood turned around completely, Severus went up the stairs to his quarters – to be confronted with a rather sulky Fawkes. He was in a rare mood for a drink, but refrained when he remembered what had happened after the mead. He had a few rounds of stomach potions to go through before he would try alcohol again. Severus brewed himself a ginger tea instead and started to talk to Fawkes about Hermione. He was amused when the bird gave up on his distant attitude rather quickly, and fluttered over, perching precariously on the back of a chair.

“She’s simply lovely, isn’t she?” he said, and Fawkes trilled in agreement.


	21. Twenty-one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unnecessary warnings, exam-related hysterics, a roundabout declaration, and drunkenness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fast-forward chapter, and that rare occurrence of a chapter I actually like ;-)

The next weeks passed in a flash, but that didn’t stop Hermione from remembering several moments very clearly, when she looked back after the exams were over and done with.

McGonagall had cornered her a few days after the meeting in her old office – officially, to wait on the steps outside the castle for the first guest speaker to arrive (much to Ron’s and Ginny’s embarrassment, the person in question was Arthur Weasley). In actuality, the headmistress had wanted to talk about Snape. What she had said had closely resembled what Hermione had heard from her friends and Madam... and Poppy. After a while, Hermione had cut her off a bit rudely, explaining with a sigh, “Yes, I am sure about this. And yes, we will wait till after the end of the school year”. McGonagall had looked slightly affronted, maybe even a little disappointed, as if she had expected better from her – did she think Snape unworthy of her? – but she hadn’t said much more after that.

Then Ginny had seen fit to talk to her father while he was there, and Hermione had had a very weird discussion with Arthur – who had clearly been rather delighted at the prospect of Hermione and Severus becoming a couple, but had tried to hide it and speak to Ginny’s (and probably Molly’s, as soon as she’d hear about it) concerns. He hadn’t refrained from wishing her “Good luck”, with a smile on his face in the end, which rather belied his earlier words of caution.

She also remembered several NEWT-related hysterics, propagated by all of her friends in turn: Ron shouting when he noticed a portion of his Charms textbook was missing, Harry letting himself be influenced by Luna’s eerie calm, only to return with a vengeance to his state of perpetual nervousness, a slightly memory-aiding-potion-overdosed Ginny kissing an utterly baffled Draco Malfoy in the corridor (‘I just always wanted to know whether you were as bad at it as I thought; turns out you’re all right, though’), Neville shooting betrayed looks at Ginny and vowing to become a recluse and a hermit as soon as possible... it had been madness, pure and simple.

All the moments with Snape stood out most clearly, of course. She thought guiltily about his utter emotional exhaustion after the Ministry commemoration and celebration ceremony, where he had been bombarded with shallow to downright stupid questions (“I have never believed in the good of mankind, but how they can say such utterly stupid things one year after the war is beyond me”). She had come to regret advising him to go, even though it seemed to have consolidated his new status in the public eye.

She also recalled a slight nervous breakdown in the courtyard, after she had discovered how many hours her fellow students revised each day – under her new schedule, she had time for pauses with a nice book and slept at least eight hours every night. Snape (Severus, no Snape, stop thinking of him like that, it will make it more difficult) had walked in on her sobs. In retrospect, her behaviour seemed quite ridiculous to her. He had been surprisingly non-spiteful, even patient, and had quickly calmed her down again.

There were also hours spent in silence in the early evening, Hermione with her notes and books, Snape with a book or sometimes nothing external to occupy him – she always meant to ask him about the mental techniques he seemed to be practicing, and when she finally did, he explained to her that he was working towards cautiously reigning in his Occlumency. He still had trouble controlling it sometimes, she was quite astonished to hear – his face often was an open book to her now, after all. Seeing her look, he told her quietly, “Only very rarely with you. I suppose it is a matter of trust.” Hermione replayed that sentence in her mind many a time. It always caused a surge of affection to well up inside her – on good days. On bad days, she wondered when the ‘Lily effect’ she still seemed to have would wear off.

Finally, there had been the day before the exams began. Hermione had gone to the courtyard to try and stop herself from frantically rereading things she already knew, and he had been there, waiting. With a slightly crooked smile, he’d said, “I never believed in those things, myself, but maybe you’ll like it anyway.”  
A simple stone pendant was fastened around her neck. It looked like one of those amulets that were sold for luck – uncharmed, as it wouldn’t have been allowed during exams otherwise. It was a glittering blue – blue goldstone, she realised. The two runes on it she did not recognise. They hadn’t been part of the standard ones she’d seen on these amulets (luck, health, success etc.). When she looked up the vaguely familiar characters in a book that evening, she stared at the page for a while, not knowing what to think. _Devotion_. And _Constancy_. It wasn’t so much a talisman as a declaration of love.  
She had trouble sleeping afterwards, though it wasn’t mainly because of the exams, like she would have previously thought. When she woke up, she noticed that she’d clutched the pendant in one hand all night. She wore it around her neck after that, over her blouse. Sometimes it blinked out from under her uniform tie.

For safety reasons, she had to remove the amulet, along with the tie, for her DADA practical, but she kept it in the pockets of her robes even then. As it was the last exam of the two NEWT weeks, quite a few of the teachers came to watch, some bringing a class of students with them. Apart from the fact that Hermione had become weary of fighting after the war, there was nothing in the exam that really presented a difficulty to any of the veterans of Dumbledore’s Army, and the presence of their teachers didn’t succeed in making them nervous, either. When she was done, Hermione pulled out her pendant again and put it back where it belonged. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Snape looking at her and turned to give him a brief smile, before she ran down to the lake.

Harry and Ron were already waiting, with a few bottles of butterbeer (for ‘old time’s sake’), but also some firewhiskey and ‘Priscilla Fenderworth’s extra bubbly champagne’. It turned out they had talked Aberforth into sending the stuff up to the castle.

Soon, Neville and Aidan joined them, Xavier came by for a moment, Lavender and Parvati said hello, and then Luna arrived, and finally Ginny, who was dragging along Draco Malfoy. His protests about ‘not being wanted there’ were quickly swallowed with a few gulps of butterbeer, when Harry forced a bottle onto him and told him to sit down. _Haven’t we grown up_ , Hermione thought, content and melancholy at the same time.

Late in the evening, and more than a bit tipsy, she was one of the last of their group to find her way back to the castle doors. As she carefully set one foot in front of the other on her way through the entrance hall, someone stepped out of the shadows.

“Oh, it’s you,” she whispered happily as the stern figure of Severus Snape appeared in front of her.

“You’re drunk,” he stated, but Hermione couldn’t really tell if he was angry. Everything had become slightly blurry by now.

“Yes,” she therefore replied matter-of-factly.

She thought she heard him say “Allow me,” and understood when he held out his arm to her. Carefully, gently, he steered her up the stairs and even knew the password when Hermione just giggled at the sight of the Fat Lady.

“Try not to fall asleep on the carpet, Granger,” Snape said, stroked over her hair once, and then pushed her through the entrance with mild insistence. Turning around, she managed to blow him a kiss just before the portrait swung shut.

~---~

Severus climbed the steps of the Astronomy tower. He encountered a seventh year couple on the way, kissing in one of the alcoves, and sent the two girls on their way to their dormitories with uncharacteristic mildness (“Fifteen points from Hufflepuff, now go back to bed”). Continuing up the stairs, he heard one of them whispering to the other, “Fifteen points?” and the other reply, “He must have said fifty.”

Up on the tower, he turned his face into the light evening breeze and thought about Granger. Drunk, she had appeared younger, and he had briefly felt like a terrible pervert. Doubts, again. Of course; he hadn’t yet had enough of those during the last weeks.

It was as if the strange closeness that had come naturally in the beginning had become fragile when he finally admitted to himself that what he felt for her would not go away. At the same time, he hadn’t thought much about Lily in weeks. Guilt warred with happiness at the realisation. Free at last, by binding himself to somebody else. But this time, he wasn’t reaching out to somebody who drew back at every forward step he took. No, this time, he was met halfway, even approached sometimes.

He remembered her at the exam today: doing everything perfectly, but looking worn out, as if she wanted to throw away her wand and never cast a defensive spell again. He had seen her clutch the pendant afterwards; finally reassured that it hadn’t been utter lunacy to give it to her, to turn himself inside out with two words. Maybe she didn’t know... oh, he was deluding himself. She hadn’t known the runes when he gave it to her, but would have looked up the meaning immediately.

He should really know better by now, but he had half expected she would throw the amulet away in disgust when she found out. Seeing her holding on to it, he had longed to go to her.

Later, from a distance, he had seen her outside, at the lake, with her friends (and Draco, strangely enough) and had waited up for her for a long time.

It was a good thing she had been drunk – he might have told her so many things otherwise, and there were still four long weeks of term left. And then she would leave. The thought, one he had stifled as much as he could, suddenly assailed him with force. He didn’t even know what she wanted to do, or where she would go; he had not dared to ask.

Severus stared at the spot where he had killed a good man not yet two years ago and wondered how it was possible that he had started to imagine happiness for himself, whatever the extenuating circumstances might be for what he had done.

_She’ll leave, she’ll leave, she’ll leave..._

A sudden noise and a flash of red in the night made him focus his bespectacled eyes on something that had just whooshed by. Fawkes had come, as always gauging his bad mood. The bird tumbled into his arms as if he too were drunk, and Severus forgot his own maudlin ways as the phoenix burst into flames right then and there. They crackled on his hands and arms, but did not burn him.

A few seconds of silence, broken by a rustling sound. From the ashes in his hands, a small ugly head rose with a squawk, and Severus smiled. Carefully, he carried the aged newborn back to his quarters.


	22. Twenty-two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unexpected help in curing hangovers, a hawk and a barn owl, and a fierce Weasley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, almost 300 kudos now! Thank you all very much for reading my story.  
> I'm having a lazy day at home, so I might be convinced by a few nice comments to put up a second chapter today ;-)

Hermione woke with the first real hangover of her life. An owl was tapping at the window, and it sounded as if it was hammering directly into her brain matter. She got up reluctantly and took a small bottle and a note from the bird, which hooted angrily and flew away when she forgot to give it a treat.

The note read: _Drink only if the magical seal is intact. I have brewed a cauldron of hangover cure this morning. Tell the others they can have some, if they dare to visit me in my lair, S._

Hermione smiled in spite of the pounding in her head, opened the seal, and downed the lime green beverage. As her head became clearer, she remembered Snape waiting up for her, remembered him accompanying her, remembered giggling like a child. She groaned. The headache was gone, only embarrassment remained.

The note appeared doubly nice now; it also said: _I’m not judging you; I’m not disappointed in you._ She was glad to know it. He might have been... When she had talked with Harry one night about the fact that Snape didn’t really drink, he had confided that he had once seen a memory that made him believe Snape’s father must have been an alcoholic. That certainly would be enough reason to be weary of people getting drunk as thoroughly as she had been yesterday.

Hermione sat down to compose a letter to her parents – in her drunken state, she had been happy, but had experienced sudden bursts of melancholy, of a bone-deep sadness she usually managed to suppress.

Drunk, she had been able to admit how hurtful the partial alienation from her parents was to her. What she would write today might just strain their relationship further, but not writing would achieve that as well, when they inevitably found out.

 _Inevitably, yes._ She couldn’t categorically say that she would have a future with Severus Snape – they both had avoided talking about it as yet. But she could say with absolute certainty that her future would be shaped by him. She just hoped it would not happen in the way that Lily Evans had once shaped his.

It was difficult to explain all of this in a letter, but she suspected a phone or floo call would be much worse. In the end, she settled on describing their unexpected friendship and working relationship as neutrally as she could, which, she discovered, wasn’t very neutrally at all. So she continued with as little of an explanation as she thought she might get away with:

_From the way I write about him, you might have already started to worry about where this is going. I cannot really allay your fears on that account, except to say that I have thought this over by myself and talked this over with my friends and some of my teachers already. I have not yet talked to him about the future, but we understand each other, and have agreed to wait until the end of term..._

‘We understand each other’ – a bold claim, Hermione thought, and unconsciously reached for the pendant with one hand. She ended the letter with everything she could come up with by way of reassurance, and then remembered to ask whether her parents had booked their flights and hotel room by now.

When she had been in Australia last summer, they had indicated they would come over after her graduation. Hermione would have loved to house them somewhere, but they had sold her childhood home when they’d decided to stay in Australia, and Harry had quickly agreed that Grimmauld Place was not where one should bring one’s Muggle parents. On top of a few of the old magical problems in the house, it had suffered some damage by Death Eaters after the three of them had been discovered and so nearly captured.

A whole group of them (Neville, Ginny, Ron, Luna and her) had, as one of their Christmas presents to Harry, assured him they would help him renovate. However, that had been before the new relationships had formed – Ron and Aidan, Harry and Luna, Ginny and Draco – the last two with a question mark attached, still, but Hermione was pretty sure she was right on both counts.

And then, there was her own situation. Well, she was still planning to help Harry (even if she wouldn’t have wanted to, she didn’t really have another place to stay, anyway). She just hoped that she would be able to spend some time with...

Hermione was thrown out of her thoughts by a bleary-eyed Lavender, who had detached herself from a clinging Parvati – they had looked nearly as drunk as she had been, and, from the way they had giggled and fallen asleep on the same bed, they had apparently settled their differences for the time being.

She saw Lavender rub a hand over one of the long scars that ran down her neck and remembered that she had never found an opportunity to enquire about what remained from Snape’s encounter with Nagini.

Lavender narrowed her eyes to slits (though the effect was minimal, as they hadn’t opened much wider yet, anyway).

“You look awfully awake for someone who should have a hangover.”

Hermione held up the empty vial, grinning in anticipation of what she was about to say.

“Hangover cure. Snape informed me you can have some if you go downstairs to see him.”

She enjoyed the incredulous look on her dorm-mate’s face.

“I’m not having you on, I promise.”

At Lavender’s still sceptical look, Hermione cast her Patronus, which made Lavender and the also just-awoken Parvati close their eyes against the blinding light.

Hermione looked at the silvery hawk – she had been strangely happy when she’d first seen the changed form during her NEWT preparations – she had liked the otter, of course, but at the time, the change had seemed like a tangible proof of what she felt. With its sharp traits and piercing eyes, the hawk bore a resemblance to a certain someone. Now, she was a bit nervous about Snape seeing exactly that. But he might have already, if he had been there for her entire exam yesterday, she reminded herself.

“I’m sending down some people for that hangover cure. Don’t be mean to them, it was your suggestion after all,” she instructed the hawk to say, and sent it on its way at a moderate pace. She didn’t want to alarm Snape – a Patronus bursting through a wall at full speed had rarely meant good things during the last years.

Before Parvati and Lavender had recovered enough to ask some of the questions that were clearly on the tips of their tongues, a Patronus floated through the wall again, flapping its large wings slowly. For a split second, Hermione wondered if her hawk had come back for some reason.

Then she realised it was a barn owl, with the characteristic heart-shaped face these birds had. It opened its beak and said in Severus Snape’s deep and a little scratchy voice,

“They’ll find me in my office.”

She watched the Patronus fade away with a feeling of unreality, and became aware that she had fastened a hand round her amulet again.

She resolved to think about this matter later and sent the two girls on their way. Luckily for her, they looked a bit dumbstruck by what had just happened and were eager to get rid of the pounding in their heads – they didn’t ask any questions. Yet.

Coming down the stairs to the common room with the other two girls, Hermione found Ginny curled up in an armchair by the fire. She was smiling at Hermione, which made her remember vaguely that, already quite drunk, she had defended Ginny yesterday when somebody had teased her about spending so much time with Draco. Before she could talk to her however, Ginny had heard Lavender say the word ‘hangover cure’, and was running after them.

Hermione desperately hoped they’d tell her they were on their way to see Snape before Ginny was in front of the man. She wondered if she should go after them, but then Neville, Harry, Ron and Aidan came in, moaning and complaining about Aberforth’s whiskey, and she sent them dungeon-wards, too. She hoped she wasn’t overtaxing Snape’s generosity.

A look on her watch told her it was noon past on this Saturday, and she went to the owlery to post the letter to her parents. She gave an assessing look to the barn owl that flew down towards her, held out a treat and fastened the letter around the outstretched leg.

On impulse, she rummaged in her pockets for a scrap of parchment, wrote a few words on it, and sent it on with another owl.

~---~

Severus Snape was strongly considering a dose of his own hangover cure, even if he hadn’t drunk at all last night. There was a headache forming behind his brows, after having had to make small talk to a larger group of Gryffindor students than his office had probably ever seen.

Luckily, they had been mostly eager to leave again after he had handed out a bottle of hangover potion to each of them. Only the Weasley girl had lingered for a minute. She had simply looked at him, until he had barked out,

“What is it?”

At that, her eyes had become flinty, and she had said, in a calm voice,

“If you hurt her, I’ll kill you.”

Severus had felt his Occlumency shields slam into place, but had managed to relax them again with Herculean effort. This was not the moment to appear unfeeling, he’d known instinctively, even if another corner of his mind had screamed to just snarl at her. He’d met Ginevra Weasley’s gaze as openly as he knew how, and had answered,

“Duly noted.”

Her eyes had widened a little when she’d studied his face. Then, she had nodded once, and had left.

An owl became visible in his office mirror, which was enchanted to show him who was approaching his rooms, and he muttered a spell to open his classroom and office door. The owl flew right in and dropped a scrap of parchment on his desk. He gave the bird a treat automatically and took the slip of paper in hand. It read:

_A barn owl, really?_

Before he could second-guess himself, he wrote an answer on the back of the parchment and sent the owl on its way. Almost immediately, he had the urge to call it back.

The parchment Hermione Granger would hold in her hand shortly read:

_Yes, a barn owl. They are intelligent and wise, beautiful and faithful._


	23. Twenty-three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An inconveniently indecisive Hermione, a mission, and how Severus deals with agressive flirtation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, here's your second chapter :-) As a writer, I don't deal well with too much fluff at a time, so here we go again with the complications...

Hermione was sitting with her friends in the common room, toying with a scrap of parchment in her hand. She wasn’t participating in the conversations around her. Instead, she had been wondering for hours how to reply to what Snape had written. At lunch, Harry had asked her about the note she’d carried around all day and she had only replied,

“It’s a description of a barn owl.”

Harry had waited for an explanation, but when it had not come, he had asked her instead how she had convinced Snape to provide them with the hangover cure. When she’d told him about how it had been his own suggestion, Harry had grinned at her.

“Oh, he must have it bad if he’s trying to be nice to your friends.”

Hermione had felt her eyebrows move up in the direction of her hairline – she hadn’t thought about it like that.

Now, in the early evening, she was debating whether to open the letter that had arrived about half an hour earlier. It was from Severus, and she wasn’t sure why she hadn’t done so already. She felt she should have sent something to acknowledge this new indirect declaration of love she had received from him today via the note, but the longer she thought about it, the less sure she was what to say.

When she finally took heart and tore open his letter, she cursed and ran from the room, leaving her astonished friends to call out after her. She didn’t stop.

She ran into Snape as he was leaving his office. Completely out of breath, she clutched his upper arms and leaned against him. He tried to take a step back, but she clung to him something fierce.

“Miss Granger,” he hissed. “The headmistress will be here momentarily to see me off.”

That made her release him, though she hissed back, still short of breath,

“What were you thinking? You can’t just leave like that!”

His look went from sympathetic to scathing in a second.

“Can’t I? Are you dictating my actions now?”

Hermione hadn’t seen him like this in quite a while, but she managed to answer more or less calmly,

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I’m not talking about you leaving, I’m talking about not saying goodbye! Also, ‘an urgent task’ you will have to perform, that might mean you will be gone for the rest of term? And for the Ministry, as well? Could you have been much vaguer? Didn’t you think it might make me worried?”

Severus Snape was looking at her as if she had grown another head. He drew out his wand and cast his owl Patronus, avoiding her gaze as he gave his message.

“Minerva, I will meet you in the entrance hall in about fifteen minutes instead. It has taken me more time than anticipated to pack.”

Then he sighed.

“I had considered the possibility you might worry, but I couldn’t have said more in a letter. I sent it early enough for you to...decide whether you wanted to see me before I left.”

Hermione cursed herself again for not opening the letter straight away, but...

“You could have just sent your Patronus and told me to come and meet you here.”

Snape looked decidedly uncomfortable, his eyes shifting away from her again as he murmured,

“I didn’t want to presume.”

Hermione translated that in her head to ‘I thought my note this morning might have been too much’, and was back to cursing herself.

“Idiot,” she whispered, as much to herself as to him, and stepped forward to lean her head on his chest again. His arms moved up her back, holding her in place.

“Tell me.”

And so he did.

A situation had arisen with two Order contacts in Romania, both of whom had been passing on information during the war. They had recently been attacked by several Death Eaters and Death Eater sympathisers who had fled Britain in the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts. The two witches had been captured briefly, during which time they’d heard talk about the construction of an ‘underground network’ by former Death Eaters. When they had managed to flee, the Romanian equivalent of the Magical Law Enforcement Office had dismissed their claims.

The witches had contacted Minerva, who had contacted Kingsley, who had managed to convince the Romanian Ministry to let them proceed with a discreet inquiry – according to Kingsley, the Romanian side had however held firm on not letting any Aurors or Unspeakables into their country.

Hermione saw how, as long as he managed to hide his identity, Snape would be the perfect candidate for the task – except for one thing.

“Why does it have to be you? Don’t tell me you speak Romanian?” she said, her words slightly mumbled by speaking them against his black waistcoat.

He sighed again.

“I do. There were quite a few Romanian sympathisers among the Death Eaters during the first rise of the Dark Lord. At the time, I spent months brewing in some hideout. As most of the others had families or homes, they were often my only company. I picked up the language then.”

He added something that she couldn’t understand – it sounded a bit like if Italian had been mixed up with a Slavic language. She leaned back a little and looked up at him.

“What did you say?”

“‘Believe me, right now I wish I’d forgotten all of it long ago.’”

He moved his head down a little, hesitated, and then placed a quick kiss on her forehead. When he drew back again, Hermione followed the movement automatically, until she realised what she was doing, and stopped, while he continued,

“I told Minerva I have done enough, but Kingsley insisted, and I couldn’t think of anybody who could be sent instead – damn the both of them for leaving ‘apologetic’ behind as soon as it does not suit them anymore.”

Hermione wanted to ask a hundred things still, but she heard footsteps; and then Minerva McGonagall’s voice was drifting through the classroom door.

“Severus? It has been more than fifteen minutes now, you don’t want to miss your Portkey! What is taking you so long?”

Snape turned towards the door immediately, but stopped, his posture as rigid as ever. He called out,

“I’m on my way”.

Then he turned back to her, his travelling robes billowing, and leaned in for an actual kiss, even if it didn’t amount to more than a light brush of his lips against hers.

“’Password to all of my rooms is ‘ _Thestral hair’_ ”, he said quietly, and left.

“Be careful,” Hermione whispered, but if he had heard, he didn’t acknowledge it.

She stood in the doorway to his office for a long time, her thoughts whirling. Finally, she made her way back up to Gryffindor tower, feeling the urgent need to talk to somebody. She realised everyone would be in the Great Hall having dinner right now, but she wasn’t hungry and definitely not up to seeing all of her friends at once.

When Hermione had climbed through the portrait hole and up the stairs to her dorm room, she found that Ginny wasn’t at dinner either. The other girl took one look at her and said,

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Hermione nodded, and started at the very beginning – a chance meeting in a sunlit courtyard.

Ginny listened.

~---~

Over a thousand miles away, Severus Snape took a deep calming breath. He had just snarled the following words at Miala Marakova, one of the two Order collaborators who were sitting in front of him in his hotel room.

“Excuse me, Madam, but I am spoken for.”

What in Merlin’s name he had done that for, he didn’t know. In the rare cases in the past where someone had aggressively flirted with him, and he had been unable to extract himself from the person in question or use the spell he had invented, his well-perfected insulting ways had usually soon cooled the pursuer’s ardour.

The witch he had addressed thusly finally deigned to remove her manicured hand from his arm and said, in a haughty voice,

“Oh, I am so sorry; I had always heard you were a _bachelor_.”

She left the last word in English in her otherwise Romanian sentence, as if to confirm that people from his home country had indeed told her that.

Severus stared her down with a withering glare and steered the conversation back to the topic at hand. When they had finished briefing him, both witches seemed in a haste to leave. Severus wasn’t sorry to see them go, even if he knew that he should keep up a better relationship with people he was to work with during the next weeks.

He sighed, feeling the urge to talk to Hermione. How angry she had been that he might have left without saying goodbye... He took up a quill and wrote a few lines to the effect of having arrived safely, and added that she should feel free to brew in his workroom if she so liked. He also reminded her that Fawkes might appreciate her company.

It sounded banal, when he read over it, like he should tell her more important things, but he sealed the letter anyway, went out into the mixed Muggle/wizarding quarter of Bucharest, searched for a still-open post office, and paid for an owl when he found what he had been looking for. The small building was masked as a dry cleaner’s. He wondered idly how the wizards working there explained to passing Muggles the number of owls leaving the building at all times of day, but did not care enough to ask.

After a short stroll, he went back to his hotel, and practiced his best Glamours for a while, before falling into a troubled sleep. Tomorrow, he would try to set up a meeting with the Death Eaters.


	24. Twenty-four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new task, the thing that makes fighting Voldemort look easy, and Severus disenchanted with spying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can still try to bribe me with comments if you want a second chapter today, as well ;-)

There was not that much time to be worried about Snape, Hermione found out. She had thought her last weeks at Hogwarts would be relaxing, after the stress of the NEWTs. It was true that most teachers tended to take their students’ attitude and treat their classes as ‘just for fun’, focusing instead on the work they still had to do in preparation for end of term exams for everyone but the OWL and NEWT years.

However, the headmistress had called Hermione into her office (the upstairs one, this time) on Sunday afternoon, the day after Snape had left. McGonagall had informed her that Snape himself had suggested she teach his classes while he was gone. After a while, Hermione ran out of ways to rally against the idea, as McGonagall had answers ready to all of the concerns she voiced.

“It was his idea, and I would say he knows if you’re competent. And even if I could get someone to stand in for him, we would lose at least two weeks of classes, which is unacceptable right before the exams. Pomona – Professor Sprout and I simply can’t do it for more than a few days with our workload right now.”

“The end of term exams have been written weeks ago; you will not have to worry about them, except for preparing the students, of course.”

“I will send other teachers to sit in as often as possible. I don’t think there will be a discipline problem, Miss Granger.”

“Yes, it is a large workload. You will be exempt from most of your classes for the rest of the year, if you can bear to miss them” – a slight smile – “and I will also grant you two teaching assistants from your year.”

Hermione had thought for a while and had requested... Draco Malfoy and Neville Longbottom.

The headmistress had looked very astonished, but had accepted the explanation she had given.

Right now, Hermione was trying to convince her two fellow students. With Draco, it wasn’t that difficult – she had always seen him as ambitious, about the only characteristic of his she used to be able to relate to. Then she had talked to Ginny, recently – who had so kindly listened to, and, despite her misgivings about the man, accepted Hermione’s tale of falling in love with Severus Snape. In return, Hermione had heard all about Draco.

“He told me he is glad his father is in prison, can you imagine that?” Ginny had said. “He is very hard on himself right now about the things he has done, but I think Lucius Malfoy is to blame for a lot... it looks to me like Draco has basically been brainwashed, you know? When a parent tells you from the age of three up what you have to do to impress them and who you can blame for your misfortunes...and he has been told some weird shit, Hermione.”

So Hermione, who had already been cautiously nice to Draco, had decided on him as her assistant for the older years’ classes – he was good at Potions after all. What she hadn’t counted on was his protest that nobody would listen to him. The other houses hated him, he said, and Slytherin saw his sudden closeness to Ginny as some kind of betrayal.

After some discussion, Hermione had at least managed to convince him to try (“you’ll see, all they care about so close to the exams is getting good grades, and I’ll satisfy them you can help with that”).

Both of them were working on Neville, who had categorically refused. Draco, astonishingly enough, thought it as good an idea as she did.

“A big part of first to third year Potions is basically Herbology, you do realise that, Longbottom?” Draco was saying. And Hermione added,

“Who better to explain what to do than somebody who had to struggle for a while before getting good at something? If you’re naturally talented, you don’t always have the gift of making the subject accessible to everyone. Just look at Snape himself.”

That had made Neville snicker a little. Hermione, feeling like she was getting somewhere, suggested,

“You wouldn’t have to do any brewing in front of the students anyway – and you always knew how a potion _should_ be made. Also, I think you might be able to help me identify the things that go wrong with the students’ brewing...”

She realised that wasn’t the most sensitive thing to say, but Neville just huffed,

“True. I have a lot of experience with that.”

Hermione tried for an encouraging smile.

“So what do you say about meeting tonight in the workroom to try some stuff out? I have the lesson plans but I would like to do some practical work tonight as well, in preparation, at least for the first week. Maybe we can anticipate the most common problems that will occur?”

The first week, starting tomorrow, she didn’t add. They were all well aware of that. Meanwhile, Draco was looking at her with wide eyes.

“Are you talking about Professor Snape’s private workroom, Granger?”

Hermione revelled for a moment in his disbelieving look, and then said nonchalantly,

“Yes, I just received a note from him this morning telling me that I could make use of it, but should have someone with me when I brew, just in case something went wrong.”

Draco still looked baffled, but then opened his mouth to a shark-toothed grin,

“I bet you haven’t told him that the people you wanted to bring in were Longbottom and me.”

Turning to Neville, who was grinning as well, albeit a bit nervously, he added,

“I sometimes get the feeling he hates me much more than he hates you, he just doesn’t show it as much in public. He’s still so fiercely angry with me. Though that’s not that surprising after everything...”

He trailed of as Hermione spoke over him, reassuring him that Snape most assuredly didn’t hate him and was, in fact, still worried about his well-being. Draco went back to staring at her.

“You talked with him about me? What the hell is going on, Granger?”

She managed to get the conversation back to Potions without really saying anything, but from the way Draco looked at her that evening in the workroom, she knew he had gossiped with Neville. Draco was treating her with an odd mixture of respect and caution now, and she could understand him, when she thought about it – Snape must be something like a second father figure in Draco’s life, especially now, with Lucius Malfoy in Azkaban.

The headmistress herself sat in for the first day of classes, and even with the added nervousness this caused with substitute teachers and students alike, the only two cauldrons in danger of blowing up were identified and neutralised – by Neville, as Hermione had correctly predicted.

After a day of turning very sceptical students into marginally less sceptical students with all the competence she could possibly project, Hermione fell down on her seat (Snape’s seat, really), exhausted. The last class had been their own, and, conscious of her inability to project any air of authority with her classmates, she had proposed group work and had the headmistress give out assignments for topics to present over the next few weeks.

It might actually work – as soon as it wasn’t mandatory anymore, Potions became a geeky subject, with classes full of students who could be relied on to work even without the pressure of exams, as long as the topics were interesting. She had tried to make sure of that.

Draco and Neville lingered and came to a halt in front of the desk – which was just weird. She heaved herself up from the chair, walked around the desk and sat back down on it instead of staying behind it.

“I think I’d rather fight Voldemort a second time, than do this again tomorrow,” she sighed. Looking up, she saw a split second of shock on her assistants’ faces, before they broke out into heaves of laughter. Hermione joined in. Harry struck his head through the door, wanting to know what was so funny, and asked them to come to dinner. They went upstairs together, laughing all the while.

Hermione wished desperately to be able to tell Snape about all of this, but he had made it clear that there was to be no attempt on her side to reach him – suspicious owls were not conducive when ingratiating oneself to former Death Eaters. She hoped he was all right.

~---~

Severus was all right, at least physically. Mentally... well, he had listened to hate speech for several hours now; sometimes dumb, sometimes deviously vicious. Unfortunately, the men and women doing the talking, none of whom he had ever known to have any connection to the Dark Lord, but all  of whom had ‘personal’ stories to tell about his highness, were close-mouthed about anything concrete – from what they were planning to do to where they had found shelter.

It would take time and meetings and promises to be let into the group, he knew, even as he pulled his focus back to yet another vile comment about Muggleborns. He was tired and his glamours itched.

When the meeting he pretended such avid interest in finally came to a close, Severus walked back to the disreputable hovel he now stayed in to keep his cover.

He thought about Hermione, who must have had her first day of teaching – if she had accepted to do it, that was. Somehow, he was sure of it. He wrote a few lines to her without any intention of sending them. That he was well, that his business here would probably take a while, that he hoped the little buggers weren’t getting to her, that he trusted her to look after his students. Absolutely soppy and unnecessary, it was.

He remembered Hermione during her Potions NEWT, brewing with an effortlessness that had made him wonder if he hadn’t spoken too soon when he warned her off a career in his profession. Feeling restless, he convinced himself that going to the post office in a roundabout way would be a good means of finding out whether he was being tracked.

He wasn’t, as far as he could tell, but then the people he had met today hadn’t really seemed like the types to do that sort of thing. Annoyed with himself, he realised he had only looked for an excuse to send off his stupid letter. Well, now that he was here, there was no reason not to do it.


	25. Twenty-five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The making of a courtship amulet, a typical 'Luna-thing' to say, and an annoying Prime minister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter, as promised, and a longer one, as well. Quite a few interesting things happening here...

Hermione was going a bit crazy – notes kept coming in from Snape now and then over the next three weeks, and she actually started to write out replies and put them in an envelope in her trunk, to keep herself from sending something back.

A letter she did reply to was the one from her parents. She told them that her plans for the summer were as yet unchanged, ignored for the most part the thinly veiled preoccupation about her ‘infatuation’ prevalent in their missive, added little things about Snape (without mentioning that he was doing the Ministry’s dirty work in Romania right now) in the hopes of getting them accustomed to the idea of her embarking on a relationship with a teacher twenty years her senior, mentioned wizarding lifespans (even if she knew that it was one more thing that made her ‘other’ from her parents), told them how happy she would be to see them in London at the beginning of August ... Her effusions filled a long piece of parchment. They would be astonished at her wordiness, Hermione thought; but it alleviated, in a small way at least, the urge to write to Snape.

She talked to Ginny about her frustration more than once – Ginny, who had her own frustrations about Draco. He spent time with her, talked to her, but was completely ignoring her ‘come hither’-looks.

Hermione and Ginny were sitting cross-legged on their respective beds one afternoon, the curtains drawn back, to talk about ‘their men’. Lavender and Parvati were in their Divination class, and miraculously, there was no Potions class scheduled for the last period on Thursday afternoon, so they had the dorm to themselves.

At this point, Hermione had changed her opinion about girl friendships – they were an absolute necessity. Aside from the fact that she simply liked Ginny more and more the longer she spent one-on-one time with her, she couldn’t really talk about all of this stuff with Harry or, heaven forbid, Ron.

“Don’t you think you should just make the first move; well, make the first move again, if we don’t count that one kiss of yours?” she was saying to Ginny. “’Cause I think he might just be too afraid of losing what he has. That’s how Sev – Snape feels sometimes, I’m convinced of it now.”

Ginny smiled at her briefly.

“Just call him Severus, Hermione.”

Hermione sighed; it wasn’t the first time she had slipped up.

“He hasn’t given me leave...”

Ginny interrupted.

“He kissed you, didn’t he? I think that gives you every right. And term ends in about two weeks; you can stop worrying about saying it in front of everybody else, then.”

Hermione sighed again.

“Let’s hope he will be back before then... at least you have Draco right here.”

Ginny, who had sidled up to her just then, suddenly grabbed Hermione’s pendant. Out of habit, Hermione’s hand had gone up to touch it when she’d started speaking about Severus. As she struggled to dislocate Ginny’s grip, her friend said,

“You know, I have only seen you wear this recently. Did he give it...”

She trailed of, staring at the stone in her hand. Hermione took the opportunity to snatch it back.

“Hermione? Did Snape give that to you?”

Ginny sounded somewhat disbelieving, so Hermione was glad to confirm it.

“Do you know what that is?”

Hermione frowned, wondering where this was going.

“Well, it’s one of those lucky amulets – don’t look at me like that, Ginny, I know what the runes say, and I’m very happy about it, but otherwise, it’s just a stone!”

She received another incredulous look.

“This kind of amulet,” Ginny said gravely, “isn’t the same as those trinkets they sell for luck. It is often given in a traditional courtship. It’s not magical, in and of itself, but the runes are carved in with magic – when you create it, you won’t know what it will say until you cast the spell, which will draw on your innermost feelings towards the person you’re thinking about... Or at least, that’s what I’ve been told,” she finished a bit lamely.

Hermione took a deep breath and slowly forced her hands away from the amulet – both of them had come up to hold on to it this time, as she was trying to make sense of what Ginny was saying. Meanwhile, her friend went on,

“Not that many people do this – sometimes, they are not all that happy about what the runes reveal. Mom has one from Dad that says ‘friendship’ and ‘affection’. As a stupidly romantic child, I was disappointed that it didn’t say ‘love’, but I think I have come to understand much better now why she cherishes it so.”

Hermione limited herself to a nod – she was still completely floored that Snape would have bared his feelings to her in this way. She unfastened the pendant and turned the stone around in her hands, finally settling on,

“He said he’d never really believed in ‘those things’, when he gave it to me.”

Ginny’s lips stretched into a wry smile,

“He would have said that to protect himself, in case you had reacted badly, wouldn’t he?”

Hermione nodded again, slowly.

“You know, his Patronus has changed, just as mine did,” she ventured. Another thing she’d kept from Ginny so far.

Ginny gasped a little and said with the same smile as before,

“I think it’s a good thing I’m learning to like him a little, then. Go on, spill. What is it?”

Hermione smiled brightly, remembering the back-and-forth of their notes on the subject.

“A barn owl.”

Ginny grinned back.

“Wise owl, huh?”

Hermione hit her with a pillow.

Some time later, she was going over lesson plans. Ginny had left – Hermione had convinced her friend to ask Draco to dance with her at the leaving feast. There was to be some kind of party attached to the feast this year; to everybody’s surprise and the headmistress’ mild disapproval, Kingsley had mandated a celebration for all the volunteers who had helped to restore Hogwarts during the past year.

The headmistress didn’t object at all to thanking them – she just knew that with the entirety of students, plus about a hundred and fifty guests, the whole thing was hell to organise. Hermione privately agreed. Lorwen Decker, a young Auror who was this week’s guest lecturer for Defence, had told her that there would be a large detail of Aurors on security duty around the castle for the event.

There were rumours of underground Death Eater activity making the rounds at the MLE, the young woman had told her with old-looking eyes, the kind of eyes belonging to so many of the people who’d fought in the war. Hermione had thought about Snape, whose last note had arrived six days ago.

With a last sigh, she gathered up her notes – the classes were going well, but she’d really much rather he’d be back, to at least administer the tests himself. Oh, who was she kidding, she simply wanted him back, no extrinsic reason needed. Now, she was meeting Harry and Luna instead, to visit Fawkes and have them keep her company while she brewed another batch of Pensive solution.

Fawkes was glad to see them – Hermione liked to visit the phoenix as well, to track his metamorphosis back from weird-looking chick to beautiful bird. In the workroom, she listened to Luna’s theories about phoenixes with half an ear while she prepared her ingredients, but tuned the words out when she started brewing, not forgetting to first cast the protective spells on the three of them.

When she became aware of her two visitors again, Harry had a slightly awed look on his face.

“That seems really difficult, ‘Mione.”

She grinned.

“I’m starting to have fun doing it.”

Harry shook his head at her fondly, but it morphed into a spluttering cough, when Luna suddenly ventured,

“You know, I think Snape’s going to be a good father.”

It was a testament to how much time Harry was spending with Luna that he didn’t even ask where that had come from – as Hermione struggled to keep herself from doing – but said instead, after he had recovered from his cough,

“Is there something you aren’t telling us, ‘Mione?”

With a red-tinted face, she opened her mouth to tell Harry what she thought about that question, but Luna had already tilted her head at him, and said,

“Not now, obviously, Harry.”

 _Obviously_. Hermione took a calming breath, still in danger of yelling at Harry for his remark just now.

He had the good sense to leave her alone shortly after that, dragging Luna with him.

Hermione went up to Fawkes again, renewing the magical fire in the fireplace for the sake of the bird, who seemed to love the warmth in the weeks after his rebirth. The phoenix clucked and gurgled at her happily from the blanket she had laid out for him. She sat herself down on the sofa, surrounded by Snape’s things – dark furniture, bookshelves, potion bottles. Same as in the office really, but a bit more personal. A few crystal glasses in a cupboard, an unmoving photograph of Eileen Prince on the mantelpiece, a small golden object that whirred and buzzed. Harry had said, with sadness colouring his tone, that it reminded him of Dumbledore.

She finally allowed herself to think about what Luna had said. _Children_. Well, at some point... She strongly suspected he didn’t want any, though. Oh, what was she even doing thinking about this, when there were much more basic matters they hadn’t discussed yet? She tried to ban all thought on the matter for the time being, as she focused on finding a new book to borrow amongst Snape’s collection.

There were quite a few tomes on Arithmancy that called out to her. It was surprising he had that many, when he had as good as admitted once that he wasn’t very proficient in that subject matter – but really, it was just like him to stubbornly persist in his efforts to get good at it. She smiled, taking one of the newer publications with her. She would have liked to just sleep down here on the sofa, but the others would be worried if she didn’t come back to the dorm.

~---~

Severus smiled in grim satisfaction. Those fucking amateurs had a list of members and sympathisers, and not only did he hold it in his hands, he also knew how to break the spell protection that had been placed on it. While he made a copy, he was waiting for something to go horribly wrong, but nothing happened, nobody came in, nobody stopped him when he walked out of the slowly decaying Muggle factory. He had to hand it to them – they had found well-hidden headquarters at least. It didn’t help them much, however, now that they’d let him in.

He left copies of the list with the Romanian Order contacts (the meeting progressing in a still decidedly awkward manner), and with the Romanian MLE; told them about the Muggle bank a few of the preposterously named ‘Neo-DEs’  wanted to rob tomorrow (‘for funds’), and activated his emergency Portkey back to London.

With mild surprise, he noted that he had landed directly in Kingsley’s office. Despite the late hour, the minister was not alone. Kingsley told a shocked-looking, vaguely familiar man (‘Muggle Prime minister’, Severus remembered), “I am sorry about the interruption, but this is important,” before bidding the politician to wait outside. The man was looking at Severus as if he had appeared from thin air – oh well, he had, really.

Severus presented his findings (the original document this time, he’d left behind a copy), saw Kingsley’s face light up as if Christmas had come again in the middle of June, and tried to extract a promise that he would never ever be bothered in any such situation again.

“I didn’t force you,” Kingsley said mildly, which made Severus hiss,

“Don’t channel Albus; it doesn’t look good on you.”

Kingsley grinned briefly (he had one of those smiles that made people forgive him way too easily, but Severus wasn’t falling for it; definitely not). Then, Kingsley added, serious again,

“Severus, you know this was – and still is, until we have apprehended all of these people for questioning – an unusual situation. At least, I very much hope this will not become the new norm. As soon as I can trust my Unspeakables, they will handle this kind of thing, preferably without the knowledge of local governments.”

 _Oh, right._ He watched the man – the interim Minister – closely as he asked,

“Any Unspeakables on that list?”

Kingsley’s smile turned bitter.

“You know I shouldn’t tell you that... At least three, probably more; I don’t know all of their various aliases by heart.”

Severus decided to leave it at that – it had become a habit, to absorb as much information as possible, always, but he didn’t want to know more about this, and he wouldn’t have to. He would read about it in the paper in a few days or weeks.

“Well, looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you,” was therefore his only reply, before he sent his Patronus to Minerva, so she would open up the floo connection from the Minister’s office to his living room. He was exhausted, and it was the least she could do, really.

He took his leave from Kingsley (who didn’t look at all happy to continue his previous meeting: “The man got elected two years ago, can’t he just leave us alone now that the novelty of knowing about us has worn off?”), and enunciated clearly ‘Hogwarts, Severus Snape’s quarters’, as he stepped into the flames. Already disappearing, he heard the Prime minister’s exclamation: “Is that this travelling by fire method? Impressive!”

He was spit out by his fireplace, and nearly fell on Fawkes, who was lying on a blanket that had been placed directly in his way. If a phoenix could glare, this one was certainly doing that.

“Leave off,” Severus muttered. “I would have liked to be back before now, too.”

He looked at the bird, who was well on his way back to his former glory.

“You know, I think I like you better ugly.”

Fawkes made a strange gurgling sound and, instead of playing at being insulted, tried to flutter up towards him on wings that weren’t completely recovered yet. Snape sighed and picked him up; bracing for the flood of warmth that action would set coursing through him.

It still felt like an emotional manipulation to him, this sweep of illogical happiness caused by touching the phoenix. Then again, Severus suspected that happiness was rarely logical. He simply didn’t have enough experience with it to know for sure.

He sighed, as tense muscles relaxed and his Occlumency shields slipped away from him – for the last few days he had been staying with the Death Eater group, and hadn’t been able to drop his guard even when sleeping.

Severus fell down onto the sofa and was asleep within the minute. The phoenix in his arms was watching him curiously as faint snores started to fill the room.


	26. Twenty-six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reunion, including: Snape swearing off spying, Neville having his hands full in Potions class, bold declarations on Hermione's part and something I'm sure you were waiting for, dear reader.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can stop yelling at Snape now, Rosiethehobbit17 ;-)

On Friday morning, Hermione was tired. She shouldn’t have moved the brewing to a Thursday, but her friends wanted to go down to Hogsmeade tonight. Ginny had prised out of Draco that it had been his birthday a few days ago, and had declared they should all go to the Hog’s Head. Hermione wasn’t thrilled (the Hog’s Head on a Friday night had to have some dubious creatures in it), but remembered why, with Draco amongst the group, going to the Three Broomsticks was definitely a worse idea.

After their own Potions class first thing in the morning, she yawned through her third year Gryffindor/Slytherin lesson with Neville, who, as always, was taking his teaching duties very seriously. Hermione had already settled into a bit of a routine, but Neville was treating each lesson as a new challenge to tackle.

He should consider a career in teaching, she thought, when there was a faint knock on the door. Professor Flitwick, who was sitting in this morning (not really following the lesson, but rather correcting copies on his knees), looked up from his chair next to the door and flicked his wand to open it. An owl flew in, to land in front of Hermione. Flitwick looked mildly curious, but went back to his work, taking another paper from the stack of tests floating next to him.

She chastised the much more openly curious students for looking away from their brewing and let Neville explain why that wasn’t a good idea at this stage of the Voice Enhancer they were preparing. The sealed note had her name in spidery letters, and Hermione opened it, aware that some students were still watching her. It read:

_Came back late yesterday. Mission successful. Overslept. Clearly, I’ve had enough of spying for the rest of my days. Will step in on your lessons later; though please don’t feel obliged to hand the brats back to me immediately, S._

Hermione turned briefly to the blackboard, adding some unnecessary detail, and smiling at it like an idiot, her back to the class. Composing herself, she went over to her desk again, and scribbled:

_Glad you’re back. Come immediately, if you want. Be nice to Neville, H._

‘Glad’ didn’t begin to cover it, she thought. ‘Ecstatic’, maybe? Finally able to really breathe again after three weeks?

Neville was looking at her, and she made her way towards him, through the rows of students, correcting this and that about ingredient preparation, calmly admonishing a boy who managed to muck up the brewing order every time – even though she was determined not to react with Snape’s snarling impatience, she could have sworn this one was doing it on purpose.

Having reached Neville, she drew him aside and said happily,

“Snape’s back.”

His face fell.

“Is he coming here?”

_Right_. Of course Neville wouldn’t be thrilled; she’d known that, logically.

“Sooner or later. He wants us to finish the class – try not to react to him too much, okay?”

Seeing Neville’s sceptical face, she added, just to see him splutter,

“You know, when you get to know him, he can be real cute sometimes.”

Neville’s face didn’t disappoint. Both of them, however, whirled around a second later, hearing a worrying puffing sound and a, for a third year, truly impressive string of curses.

As Hermione whipped out her wand to contain the rapidly expanding cloud of dense pink smoke over one of the desks, Neville called for order, and stasis charms on the cauldrons. Hermione envied him the deep, warm, effortlessly carrying voice he had developed during puberty; she herself had had to take a potion to soothe her sore throat most evenings for the past weeks. When the class settled down, and Neville saw that Hermione had managed to capture even the last tendrils of the dizziness-inducing smoke in a bubble, he moved to the front of the classroom, explaining what must have gone wrong as he did so. The class laughed delightedly as he added,

“Don’t be too frustrated with yourself, Annie, it could always have been worse. I distinctly remember a vicious black goo on the bottom of my own cauldron, when I first tried this.”

Hermione vanished the smoke bubble and looked up to see Snape standing in the open doorway, his head tilted in an achingly familiar way. When she made eye contact, he lifted his eyebrows in Neville’s direction, but said nothing.

She forced her eyes away before she could forget herself and run towards him. Nodding to Neville, she took over, instructing the students to lift their stasis charms and continue (“but, please, think about what comes next, before you do so”).

To Neville, she said quietly,

“Can I leave you alone with them, for a second?”

Neville’s eyes darted to the door automatically, and he stared for a second at Snape, who stared back, unblinking. Flitwick, who looked up just then from his seat next to the door, saw Neville’s stare and turned to follow it, exclaiming,

“Why, Severus, so good to see you back!”

Hermione mourned the chance to say a private hello to Snape for a second, before she bellowed at the class as loudly as she could muster,

“Stop staring! Don’t forget your potions!”

She saw Snape hide a grin, before he took a few steps into the classroom and said in a dangerously quiet tone,

“Haven’t you heard Miss Granger? This is still her class today.”

The students hurried to comply, though their concentration was broken. Hermione exchanged a look with Neville and braced for more mishaps. Snape stepped out into the corridor with Flitwick.

“Sorry,” Neville whispered. Hermione shrugged and did her best over the next twenty minutes to be more attentive than her unfocused students, but didn’t always succeed. Poor Neville had his hands full.

When the lesson finally drew to a close, there were, surprisingly enough, quite a few acceptable potions to decant. From the doorway, where he was now standing sans Flitwick, she heard Snape say in his silky voice,

“How about testing a few, Miss Granger? Mr. Peterson and Miss Greenleaf, maybe?”

Hermione had refrained from doing something like that during the last weeks – she wasn’t a qualified potions instructor after all, and weary of causing damage to a student.

She looked over to Snape, narrowing her eyes slightly when she realised he’d picked two students with thin, squeaky voices. Was he trying to be cruel or nice? Looking back over to the two third years, she asked them if they wanted to try out their brews, which, admittedly, both had the right colour and texture. She was surprised to see eager nods, and gave them the go-ahead.

As the last students left the room she was still smiling at the huge grins on Samuel’s and Clarissa’s faces when they had been able to drone over the noise of the class packing away their things with their now booming voices. She hoped they wouldn’t be too disappointed when the potion wore off.

Neville looked eager to get to lunch, as well, but Snape stopped him.

“Longbottom, a word.”

Hermione watched as Neville froze, and then consciously un-froze again. Snape’s lips curled, but he didn’t sound sarcastic when he said,

“Have you thought about a career in teaching?”

She had to giggle, as Neville’s jaw dropped, giving him a decidedly unflattering ‘gaping fish’-look.

“I... I have discussed it with Professor Sprout. I am considering it, sir.”

Snape nodded, face impassive.

“Good,” he said, and seemed to deem the conversation closed. Neville hurried out.

“You’re a bastard,” Hermione commented, still grinning.

Then she spelled the door shut and threw herself into his arms.

~---~

Severus held onto his witch, tightening his grip as he heard her whisper,

“I missed you.”

He kissed her hair, then murmured “Sod it,” pulled off his glasses, and pushed her back a little, a hand under her chin. Lifting it with light pressure, he finally – finally! – drew her into a real kiss, lips pressed firmly on lips, tongue darting out to prise open her mouth. After a few moments, a high sound Hermione made in the back of her throat brought him back to earth.

Severus ended the kiss reluctantly and took a step back, panting slightly. He heard her sigh, “Ten more days”.

“Yes, ten more days”, he growled back, astonished at the way his voice rasped and rumbled.

Her pupils were blown and her hair was wild and he didn’t know how to wait anymore.

Then she said, “I’ll go stay at Grimmauld with Harry.”

It felt like a cauldron of flash-freezing potion had been dropped over his head.

“What are you insinuating?” he hissed, knowing he was being irrational and not caring.

She went from aroused to angry in the fraction of a second – there wasn’t that much of a difference between the two looks, a corner of his brain noted with detached interest, while she spat at him,

“Nothing at all, and you know it! I was simply telling you where you can find me, should you care to do so.”

She shook her head, anger already cooling off again. To his complete surprise, she stepped forward and reached up to take his face in her hands.

“You didn’t mean that, did you?” she whispered, and, as he closed his eyes and confirmed this assessment in a toneless whisper, she continued, “You’re an impossible man, you know.”

A kiss, short and sweet and close-mouthed. She pressed their foreheads together and said,

“But I love you anyway.”

_That can’t be true_ , he thought, but stopped himself from blurting it out this time. Instead, to his utter mortification, his stomach rumbled ominously. Hermione chuckled, and said,

“We shouldn’t miss lunch. And do tell me whether I am teaching this afternoon.”

Before he could answer, she had already moved to the door, where she threw back over her shoulder,

“Oh, we’re going down to Hogsmeade tonight for a belated celebration of Draco’s birthday. Do you want to come?”


	27. Twenty-seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friday evening at the pub: reflexions over a glass of wine, what you should not do with mimicking potion, Hog's swill, and an overdue talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long chapter for the last day of the old year. As always, thank you for your kind comments, I'll see - or rather read - you next year ;-)

Hermione let her eyes wander around the Hog’s Head: No sign of Severus. She had beleaguered him all the way up to the Great Hall at lunch – if he was so opposed to the idea of being invited to join them, why didn’t he just pretend he had gone there to have a drink with Aberforth, and then came over to say hello to Draco? It would mean a lot to him, etc.

She had felt a bit like the woman in an old married couple, trying to get her husband to go out – it was probably a good thing she had kept that thought to herself. He was right, of course, it was awkward to have a drink with one’s students (well, soon-to-be former students), but then, this was not the last time that was bound to happen – was another thing she hadn’t said.

Sitting in the circle of her friends, Hermione wondered what it would be like to always go to birthdays and other celebrations (weddings,  sooner or later) alone, because Severus didn’t want to come – no, that wouldn’t do. With only slight shock, she realised that she was imagining her life with him not only for the next few years, but ten, twenty, thirty years from now.

Well, she conceded that Severus might simply be absent because he had a lot of work right now – not only did he have some catching up to do after weeks of absence, but the headmistress had also announced at dinner that Professor Snape was to be made a second deputy headmaster, along with Filius Flitwick, who was apparently all too happy to share the position. In all probability, Severus had been the intended deputy all along, and only the trial hanging over him at the beginning of the year had prevented it, Hermione theorised. At least, he hadn’t seemed surprised at the announcement – only at the lack of protesting moans on the part of the students.

Hermione forced herself back to the present and watched as Draco, with shining eyes, told Ginny that Snape had been pleased with the way he had handled an incident in the fourth year Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw class today. Severus had made it clear to Hermione on the way to lunch that he was in no rush to take his classes back for the afternoon. He had only dropped in with the lesson already in progress, making Draco more nervous than Neville had been. She was sure Severus didn’t know how important it was for Draco to have his good opinion – Ginny had told her more than once that Draco was hurt by the mild disdain with which Severus had distanced himself, as soon as he “didn’t need to make nice with Malfoys anymore”, as Draco had put it.

With a meaningful look towards Draco, Harry leaned over Luna to say quietly to Hermione, his words nearly swallowed up by the noise of the crowded pub,

“He’s all right, isn’t he? I’m starting to wonder if we’d have become friends if he hadn’t been so full of his pureblood shit in the beginning.”

Hermione gave him only a distracted nod – her eyes were drawn to Aberforth, who was raising his glass at a tall black-clad figure that had just come through the door.

“Oh no, what’s he doing here?” Neville groaned. Then he gave her a true ‘deer in the headlights’-look and mumbled, “Sorry, ‘Mione.”

Hermione only grinned, and raised her glass at Severus as well, when he glanced over at their table. He scowled at her and turned his back to start up a conversation with Aberforth at the counter.

“This is a bit weird for you, isn’t it?” Ginny commented. “Are you going to go over to say hi?”

Hermione smiled sweetly at her.

“I think so, since I invited him. Maybe I can even convince him to join us.”

She made a face at the round of protest that elicited. Harry laid a hand on her arm and tried for an appeasing tone,

“Look – we can have him round for tea at Number Twelve, all right...”

“Must we?” Ron interjected, and Harry shot him a glare.

“You can also stay at your parents' in your cosy childhood bedroom if you’d prefer that, Ron,” he said a bit nastily and Ron held up both hands in surrender.

“As I was saying, we can have him round for tea... but don’t you think that this is a bit much to take in for a first introduction?”

He gestured at the table, where Luna had taken out a piece of paper to explain to Aidan with visual aids how to distinguish crumpling dringerworms from your garden-variety dew worm; where Neville and Ron were just starting in on a heated debate about the merits of degnoming; where Ginny was making fun of Draco for being ‘squeamish’, tickling him viciously.

“You may be right,” Hermione conceded. Really, she had been a bit blinded by how easy it was for her to feel comfortable with Snape. And she hadn’t actually allowed herself to consider how uncomfortable this might be for him – what was he even doing here now? He should have told her exactly what a stupid idea this was.

“Back in a minute, then,” she told Harry and took herself over to the counter with her glass of wine, where she claimed the bar-stool besides the one Severus was already occupying. He managed to look austere even in the grimy pub, with a glass of firewhiskey in front of him. He was staring at the glass with faint disgust; maybe Aberforth had forced it on him.

Aberforth was just now complaining that he didn’t understand how a teacher could be so incompetent that Minerva McGonagall thought it a good idea to let him of all people teach her brats Defence for a week; and had she really needed to call in a favour for that sort of thing?

He interrupted his tirade with a gruff “Miss Granger” when he noticed her, just as Severus said with a smirk,

“So what’s she got on you, Ab?”

Hermione noted with quiet delight that Severus’ usual cultured pronunciation was ever-so-slightly off, as if the alcohol was trying to force a long-suppressed accent back out.

When he registered Aberforth’s greeting, Severus turned to look at Hermione and said, eyebrows raised,

“I am here. Are you content with that?”

Hermione grinned, feeling somewhat relieved that he wasn’t masking his annoyance.

“Ecstatic. If you just say hi to Draco and manage to convince him you don’t hate him, I’ll be over the moon.”

Severus snorted, but grinned back. She heard Aberforth clear his throat loudly.

“Oh, so that’s the way it is?”

They both whipped round, Hermione asking “What is?”, while Severus briefly hid his face in his hands. Interesting. She had rarely seen him display mortification like that in front of other people. Aberforth gave her an assessing look and said,

“You two, I mean.”

He waved a hand between them. _Oh, right._ She didn’t really mind Aberforth knowing – the man could be intimidating, but he seemed to be one of Severus’ almost-friends – only, what was Severus so embarrassed about? He had gone a nice shade of pink again.

Gesturing between them, she asked what she was missing, which made Aberforth lean closer and say, with a slightly worrying grin,

“Well, Miss Granger, I have been trying to set up Severus here with a nice girl for ages now.”

Severus just groaned.

“I kept telling him he shouldn’t wait around; and to hell with duty and the war, one has to live a little...”

“That’s enough,” Severus interjected firmly.

Aberforth just grinned broadly at him and continued, unmoved.

“He was horrible to them all, you see. The things they told me he’d said to them when they were sitting here at the counter after he had inevitably stormed out...”

He trailed off. Apparently Severus’ most murderous glare counted for something, even with the rough barman. Aberforth changed topic abruptly.

“Be that as it may, I was just telling Severus that the headmistress wants me to help out with teaching Defence next week – “

“You were just telling me about the favour you owed her, as I recall.”

Severus had collected himself and was smirking at Aberforth again.

“I’d quite like to know about that as well,” Hermione piped up, and now it was Aberforth who looked more than a little uncomfortable beneath his gruff exterior.

It took them the better part of an hour to wring out of him that McGonagall had once, decades ago, caught him stretching his firewhiskey by using mimicking potions, and hadn’t reported him then; or told his clients.

“That’s it?” Hermione couldn’t help but exclaim, which made Severus – elbow her in the ribs?

“What the hell?” she hissed at him. She heard a dry chuckle and looked up to see Aberforth smiling at them both, a twinkle in his eye. For a second, the old man looked so like his late brother that she had to avert her eyes – as did Severus beside her, clearly struck by the same thought. Aberforth hid his own pained look well, just a second after understanding had flashed over his face. He pretended to be oblivious to what had been going on there just now, commenting dryly,

“Don’t tell me you have picked a young lady who doesn’t understand anything about potions, Severus?”

Before Hermione could even formulate a protest, Severus replied just as dryly,

“I assure you, if you would care to do so, you’d be able to read about an important breakthrough in Potions soon, with Miss Granger’s name in the title. However, I strongly suspect the only brews you express any interest in are those bordering on illegality.”

He had slipped into a haughty tone that Hermione found rather amusing. Aberforth just rolled his eyes. Meanwhile, Hermione was remembering something she’d read in _Effective effect studies – a guide to (un)wanted consequences in the brewing and usage of Potions_. There had been a chapter about potions that didn’t mix well with alcohol, and mimicking potion had been among them... she stared at the barman in shock.

“Merlin’s beard, that is despicable!”

Mimicking potion would have done its job and transformed any liquid into firewhiskey by virtue of adding a small quantity of the latter – but it would also have led to unpredictable delayed effects typical of alcohol: slurred speech, temporary memory loss, lowered inhibitions – it could all occur days after having imbibed the contaminated drink.

“How long had you been doing that for?”

Aberforth, uncomfortable again, muttered something about ‘difficult beginnings when starting a business’, and Hermione tried hard not to be too outraged on behalf of pub-goers past who wouldn’t have known what hit them in their next important meeting, or in a meaningful private conversation.

“I’m sure you’ve destroyed relationships and got people fired,” she mumbled. It made Severus laugh loudly beside her.

“And where did they all go to drown their sorrows?”

Hermione couldn’t keep up her indignation when she saw him grin like this. Aberforth wasn’t joining in on their laughter, however. He was staring intently at Severus’ glass.

“Even deluded alcohol would be lost on you, Snape,” he rumbled.“You’ve changed it into water again, haven’t you?”

She saw something slide shut in Severus’ eyes; the depth to them was suddenly gone. He replied that Aberforth knew very well he preferred not to get drunk; and so it was the barman’s own fault for giving him this stuff. But his eyes, Hermione thought, what was going on with his eyes? Was he occluding?

“Are you using Legilimency on each other?”

 She looked from one to the other. Aberforth seemed too impressed with her deduction for it not to be true.

 “You are! That’s how you knew what questions to ask earlier!”

That last was addressed to Severus, who had indeed been very adept at painting Aberforth into a corner with ever more pertinent queries.

“Bastard’s still better than me,” Aberforth grumbled into his beard.

What was this? A game? A power play?

Well, she wasn’t destined to find out right now, because someone tapped on her shoulder. She turned to see Draco, who smiled apologetically.

“Sorry, but the others are complaining about the way you abandoned them.”

He dropped his voice to a near whisper.

“Harry told me to say that your ‘paramour’ shouldn’t keep you all to himself.”

Draco looked quite terrified at the prospect of Severus overhearing, which turned out to be unnecessary. Severus did indeed hear, but it made him stare deeply into his glass (of water, Hermione remembered with amusement), his cheeks showing red spots again as he clearly recalled his shouting match with Harry.

“You hear that? I guess I’ll have to go back. Draco, why don’t you take my seat?”

She shoved him towards it before he could protest, placed a quick kiss on Severus’ cheek, and went back to her table, leaving two slightly uncomfortable Slytherins and one amused barman behind.

~---~

Out of the corner of his eye, Severus watched Draco hover, uncertain whether he should sit down. Ab was making things worse by staring the young man down – Severus was very familiar with that kind of look. This one right now came pretty close to the one a scrawny black-haired kid had gotten for spying on an ill-fated night; a night that Severus, masochist that he could be, had examined in his Pensieve so often that the memory, to his guilt and relief, was getting blurry around the edges.

The pang of _Lily_ that went with it would never quite go away, even if it had finally lost its sharpness.

“Draco, wait,” he said, drawn out of his sombre musings by the fact that his once favourite pupil (out of necessary bias, but still) was backing away. Ab, with one last glare, turned demonstratively to serve a customer, while Draco looked at Severus with wide eyes. Hell, Granger was right – Draco was seeking his approval for some reason.

With a small movement of his hand, he indicated for Draco to sit, and summoned two of Ab’s house beers (rather worryingly named ‘Hog’s swill’, but the taste was not as bad as one would expect). Draco said disbelievingly,

“What kind of barman doesn’t place Anti-summoning charms?”

Severus looked at him over his glasses – he was learning to like them, just for the variations on stern and sceptical looks they provided.

“Not this kind. I know the counter-charm.”

“So you’re friends with him, then?” Draco asked, aiming for a neutral tone and nearly succeeding.

Severus shrugged.

“Let’s say we get along better than I do with most people.”

Draco moved his porcelain features into a careful little smile. Severus knew his next words would shatter it, but pronounced them anyway.

“The nature of a spy’s job, Draco, is that he strives not to let anybody on the other side in on what he’s doing.”

There was anger creeping into Draco’s eyes now – not his usual haughty disdain, no. A glimmering rage.

“I believed you! Had you not been among his followers, I might not have – “

Severus reared back instinctively; his voice a hiss.

“I tried to warn you!”

“And I thought you were envious!”

“You would, you self-important – have you any idea how horrible that year was, and you went and made it worse –“

Aberforth interrupted them by casting a subtle freeze-charm, which immobilised them for a few seconds, and saying decisively,

“This is not a conversation for the front room.”

He was right, of course. They were starting to draw attention, even if the noise of the room had mostly masked their raised voices. Severus dragged Draco around the counter and through a door that led into a storeroom he had hidden in many a time to observe the guests. He closed the door firmly behind him and turned towards Draco again. Shocked, he noticed that his momentary opponent was sniffling, thin lines of tears running down pale cheeks.

It made him feel strangely envious – for a long time now, the only moments when Severus had really cried were those spent under the influence of the Cruciatus curse. But seeing Draco this way also reminded him of what he had wanted to say before they had gotten derailed.

“You should know that I am sorry, Draco, for all the things I couldn’t do.”

The reply, to his astonishment, came immediately.

“I am... I am sorry, as well. For all the things I did do, I guess.”

The pale eyes had gone dark and round again, and then the young man took one step, two steps towards Severus. Oh well. Severus tried for a short, stiff hug, but Draco went and buried his snotty face in his robes.

Severus sighed, but he held on to him.

“Happy belated birthday, then.”

That got a weak laugh.

Severus permitted himself a smile.


	28. Twenty-eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something that had to happen sooner or later, a meddling castle, and a gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year, everyone! 
> 
> Not the fluffiest of chapters... If you'd like the next one today, tell me and I'll post it later.

Hermione was feeling a pleasant buzz. She wasn’t really participating in any conversations right now, just listening to what her friends were saying. She’d had an eye on Draco and Severus, before they’d disappeared somewhere behind the bar. Just as she was wondering whether to feel bad for pushing them together like that, Draco wandered back over to them, through the already much less crowded room. It wasn’t midnight yet, but Hogsmeade was small, and people went to bed early, even on Friday nights.

Draco was smiling widely as he approached, but she saw immediately that he’d applied a make-up charm. Amongst her friends, only Ginny seemed to notice as well. The two discussed something quietly for a while, until Ginny nodded, apparently appeased.

Pretty soon after that, they decided to call it a night – they weren’t bound by curfew on the weekends, but as the responsible young adults that they were (Harry grinned as he said it), they wouldn’t test the headmistress’ limits. Hermione didn’t remind them that the newly appointed deputy headmaster was still somewhere in this very pub, and could have sent them back to the castle, if he’d wanted them to leave. She had been tired to begin with and, as she came down from her little alcohol-induced high, she was nearly dead on her feet, and all too happy to move in the direction of her waiting bed.

Hermione trailed behind the group when leaving the pub, and, sure enough, Severus soon appeared beside her.

“Thank you for throwing Draco at me,” he said quietly, as he fell into step with her.

“You know, you can be annoyed at me,” Hermione ventured.

“Why should I be?”

He sounded confused.

“Because I’m forcing these things on you – coming down to the Hog’s Head tonight, talking to Draco...”

He stopped short; so she did as well. He was looking at her intently, his face an eerie white in the moonlight.

“Let me be clear: there is no forcing me. Had you tried to manipulate me into coming, I would not have been there. However, for some misguided reason, you appeared to want me there, so I came.”

Something was still worrying her. If he only did it to please her, wasn’t that a manipulation, as well?

“But you were uncomfortable with it.”

Snape huffed, annoyed.

“I am uncomfortable with most things. And I was just telling you that, in retrospect, I am glad you nudged me into talking to Draco – so, what exactly is it that is bothering you so?”

Only as she said it, Hermione understood it herself. Tugging free the amulet from under her jacket, she answered quietly,

“You know, sometimes, this scares me.”

Severus looked slightly ill, hard lines edged into his face, where a minute ago there had been smooth skin.

“I shouldn’t have given it to you, then.”

Bitterness was creeping into his voice. Hermione shook her head in mute disagreement.

“No! Sometimes. I said _sometimes_.”

Her voice had gone hoarse. She was running a thumb over the stone in her hand over and over again, in a caressing motion.

“Perhaps you should think about what you want.”

He sounded disappointed now, and it stung.

“You don’t understand – “

“Don’t I? You are starting to reconsider. You are starting to realise what a ridiculous, what a preposterous idea this is – “

“No, that’s not it at all!”

She took a breath to attempt an explanation, but he wasn’t allowing it.

“You have just admitted that this is too much for you; as I have been expecting all along.”

Oh, he was infuriating!

“Have you? Thank you for telling me how I feel about you. At least I for my part don’t pretend not to know what you feel for me, even when it does frighten me!”

He ignored the comment, probably precisely because she had hit the nail on the head, and latched onto the second part of her statement.

“Ah, so we’re back to that again? I am scaring you off?”

His eyes were wild.

“Let me just explain – “

“I don’t want to hear it. We’re done.”

He spat the words, and turned on the spot.

“I do love you, you fucking idiot,” Hermione said to the place where he had vanished.

Then, fully aware of how stupidly dramatic a gesture it was, she sank to the ground, sobbing.

When she shuffled up towards the castle doors a considerable amount of time later, with dirt stains on the knees of her jeans and a face that felt hot and swollen from crying, Ginny was waiting for her.

Hermione tried to duck back into the shadows, but Ginny had seen her.

“What did he do to you?” she hissed.

“Nothing. I said something, and he took it the wrong way.”

She shot a spell at her face to reduce the swelling on her nose, so she could at least talk without sounding ridiculous.

“Don’t do that! ‘Never cast on yourself in an emotionally unstable state’, and all that,” Ginny exclaimed, sounding, if possible, even more worried.

But the flow of the magic soothed her, so Hermione changed the colour of her jacket, and conjured a green feather boa for Ginny, and applied a slightly overdone cushioning charm on the steps before sitting down. It felt like being partway engulfed by a very saggy mattress.

Ginny stared at the boa, sighed, and sank down beside her. Without any further prompting, Hermione whispered,

“It’s not the first time he completely misunderstood, but usually he gives me a chance to explain.”

She unfastened the amulet, holding it out on one of her palms for Ginny to see.

“I was trying to make a point about him maybe agreeing a bit too easily to what I asked of him. And I said that this scared me sometimes – meaning that devotion can be a frightening thing, when you have it bestowed on you; but he, he didn’t let me get that far. I think he believed I was trying to break it off with him, or something like that, and he said...”

Her voice was wavering again. She buried her face in her hands and felt distantly, as if packed up in a thick layer of cotton wool, how Ginny’s arm came around her shoulders. She was murmuring nonsense at her, about how it would be alright again etc., but soon trailed off.

After an undetermined amount of time, Hermione told her friend to go to bed. Ginny protested that she should come with her, but Hermione was sure she wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway.

“I know a quiet place to think on the third floor, I’ll go there.”

And so she stepped into the courtyard by moonlight for the first time, and sat down on the stone step, avoiding the already slightly dewy grass. A blanket would have been nice, but just the thought of conjuring one set her off again.

“You are pathetic,” she murmured under her breath, but it didn’t help in the slightest.

She shifted a bit, for a second blissfully not thinking about anything, and felt something sharp poking her in the thigh. What was that?

~---~

Severus stalked through the corridors in long strides; and woe to the student he might run into. But the halls were silent, except for the harsh sound of his footsteps. Even the old night-owl Filch must have decided it was time for him and his cat to take a nap.

So this was how it ended, his brief shot at happiness. It had always been for other people, anyway, how could he have been thinking that he was allowed any part of it?

In the end, it was the same as it had been with Lily, only more cruel now for having had it briefly.

_‘But I love you anyway.’_

Well, he had been right, it couldn’t be true.

_What about her Patronus, then?_

It must have changed much earlier. During the war, maybe. Nothing to do with him, certainly.

She was _scared_.

Who wouldn’t be, when confronted with the prospect of going forward in life with someone like him?

His anger warring with self-hate, Severus drew out his wand, shooting a ball of blue fire at an unsuspecting suit of armour, which promptly opened its visor and swallowed it. He scowled and threw a slashing hex at a truly ugly tapestry. It had no effect at all. The castle clearly wasn’t willing to let him vent his anger.

He needed out of here. A familiar door came into sight – though, wasn’t he on the second floor right now? He stepped through anyway, and out into his old place of refuge. And stopped dead at the sight that greeted him.

Huddled into what looked like a truly uncomfortable position, Hermione Granger was leaning against one of the stone columns, asleep. She had to be – no one would choose to sit in this way, unless claimed by unconsciousness.

Severus turned on his heels, but the door had fallen shut and would not open again. After a variety of wordless spells failed to provide any result, he cursed the damned castle for meddling in his affairs, but soon stifled his complaints, not at all eager to have her wake up.

Defeated, he leaned against the door, and inevitably, his eyes were drawn back to her.

_She wanted to tell you something._

She only wanted to justify herself.

_She was upset when you cut her off._

I only cut her off before she could hurt me.

_Oh, so you’re not hurt now?_

Hesitantly, he took a step forwards. And another. And another.

Before he knew it, Severus was kneeling in front of her. He felt the wetness of the grass seep through his trousers.

She was breathing too regularly.

“You are awake.”

He had thought it would sound accusing, but his voice had a brittle quality to it. Without stirring, without opening her eyes, she replied in a whisper,

“Don’t leave.”

The knuckles of her left hand had gone white, clutching something.

“I can’t.”

It was quite literally true, the door wouldn’t open; but she took it another way, her eyes hopeful when she opened them at last.

“I made this.”

She held out her hand to him, relaxing the cramped fingers to show what looked like a polished firestone.

Severus took it.

There was something carved into it.

He nearly dropped the stone, feeling as if it would burn him.

She murmured,

“I didn’t have another stone here, so I took this. I hope you don’t mind, it’s not as beautiful as the one you gave me...”

Severus swallowed dryly as he followed the lines of the rune with his index finger.

 _Partnership_.

He turned the stone.


	29. Twenty-nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The other side of the stone, being (un)romantic, and why Severus needs some burn salve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently someone's sanity depends on receiving this chapter tonight, so here we are ;-)  
> Only ten chapters left...

_Belonging_.

Hermione saw something like repulsion cross Severus face, and wondered if she had made a huge mistake. Then, he looked up, now with understanding on his face, which, for once, did not look closed off in any way. With a voice that rung out in the quiet half-darkness of the courtyard, he stated,

“This is something that makes me afraid.”

A bit of panic was creeping into his voice.

“I have _belonged_ , and I have hated it – “

He stopped as she took his hand, which was still holding onto the stone, in both of hers.

“Belonging with, not belonging to,” she said, wanting to be clear about it.

“Even so.”

He sounded unconvinced, adding,

“It is a dangerous thing.”

“As is devotion.”

Better to drive home that point, Hermione thought. Severus turned his head, as if ashamed.

“Yes, I get that now. But I do not believe it is what you fear it to be.”

Hermione nodded, accepting that claim for the time being, and went on to the other thing that was bothering her.

“Promise me something.”

She heard the urgency in her voice and was relieved when he only looked at her expectantly, waiting for what she had to say, instead of agreeing blindly.

“Promise me you’ll try not to jump to conclusions in the future.”

He gave a wry grin.

“Yes, I will _try_. Maybe you should promise me in return that when it comes to this –,” he waved a hand between them, “you will just assume I do not know what I’m doing.”

He turned his hand around in hers, looking down at the stone.

“These things are probably nonsense anyway – I feel a hundred thousand things about you at any given moment.”

Severus looked earnest, and a little bit terrified. He had rings under his eyes and a few slightly rebellious locks in his mostly straight hair. She smiled; a cautious little smile.

“That’s very nearly romantic of you.”

He wrinkled his nose, and she laughed outright, even before she’d heard his reply.

“You don’t need me to be that, I hope.”

Hermione leaned her head on his shoulder, still snickering quietly.

“God, no. Though, giving me the amulet was certainly that. Very much so, in fact.”

He sighed.

“Well, seeing where that got us, it is an experiment I will not strive to repeat.”

She shook her head in protest. After a few quiet seconds, he added, as if the words were coming out of him against his will,

“ _Belonging_. I do not think I’ll ever be entirely comfortable with that.”

How to explain it?

“You know”, she began; voicing something she had long tried to understand about herself, “I have always felt a bit of a fraud. With my parents, sometimes, I thought they would realise they had the wrong girl. I felt so different from them – because of the magic, mostly. And then, here, it got much worse. I finally had a place where everyone was like me, but I had to know everything better than anyone; otherwise people would notice I wasn’t good enough, and throw me out again. I used to feel that way about you – especially about you, actually, because you were impossible to impress.”

“But you don’t anymore?”

Hermione raised her head slightly, to kiss the small bit of his neck that was visible over his collar.

“No, I don’t anymore,” she said against his warm skin. Her lips moved over something that felt slightly rough, and he shuddered.

“What is that?”

He tried to draw away.

“Oh, the snake scar, right? I thought it might have gone away recently with Poppy’s treatment of the curse.”

He had stiffened, but wasn’t trying to move away from her anymore.

“It came back – they all came back after the skin had been regrown. Poppy was quite dismayed by it.”

“And you weren’t?”

She kissed the spot again, and he shuddered once more.

“It is annoying. The collars chafe it.”

Hermione moved her fingers to open a few buttons.

“Then you shouldn’t wear them.”

He stilled her hands.

“Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because – “, he leaned down to whisper the words directly into her ear, “even if I am exhausted right now, I will not be able to resist you indefinitely, you little temptress.”

The last ‘s’ was drawn out in a hiss.

Hermione gave a short, breaking laugh.

“I must look a fright right now.”

She could easily imagine it: her face blotched and red, with dried tear tracks that surely had left lines, her hair in knots...

“I do not care in the slightest.”

Desire coloured his voice and warmed its depths.

Hermione heard her breath hitch – an inordinately loud sound. Her hands were clawing at the fabric of his robes, and Severus prised them off carefully, running his thumbs along her cramped fingers. He brought her right hand to his mouth and kissed the knuckles, then looked away, almost as if he was waiting to be told off for it.

“Do it again,” she whispered, and he obliged her, lifting his eyes at the moment of the kiss, his dark gaze almost a glare. It sent a throb through her body, right to a certain spot between her legs, and she took another deep, gasping breath.

“Who’s tempting whom now?”

It was the wrong thing to say – or the right one, depending which way you looked at it. He drew back, just as the first rays of sunlight climbed over the walls and roofs of Hogwarts, illuminating their night-worn faces.

The cry of a bird echoed in the courtyard, and the sun was blocked out for a second by Fawkes, who shot past them, his wings bringing with them a gust of wind. With another cry, he flew into the bright light of day, disappearing around a corner and briefly reappearing between two of the smaller towers.

Sporting a curious little smile, Severus briefly laid a hand on her cheek and said quietly,

“Go to sleep, Hermione.”

“You as well,” she replied, just as quietly. With difficulty, she limited herself to her customary kiss on the cheek, and went on to make her way through the still-deserted hallways. Climbing up the stairs from the common room, she heard the voices of some of the younger girls, but her own dorm-room was silent still.

Hermione wrote a hasty note.

_I am fine, do not wake me._

She pinned it to the curtains of her four-poster, then drew them shut. She only just remembered to cast a teeth-brushing spell (“That can’t be as good as the real thing, dear,” her mother’s voice whispered in her head) before she was fast asleep.

The noises of her waking friends did not stir her.

~---~

Severus knew this wasn’t a good idea, but he nevertheless cast a drying charm on his robes, in addition to several cushioning charms he’d already applied to the ground, and lay down where he was. The charms wouldn’t hold, and he would wake up stiff and sore after a few hours. Right now, however, the idea of going to sleep in the morning light, warmed by the sunshine of early summer, held tremendous appeal.

He closed his eyes, but even though he felt the tiredness bone-deep within him, sleep did not come immediately.

He had been hurtful, and petty, giving her just cause to cast him away – out of fear that she might do just that, unprompted. But she had not hated him for it, no. If that stupid stone, safely tucked away now in an inner pocket of his robe, could be believed, her most prominent feelings towards him even then had not been of anger or disappointment.

There was a bit of a contradiction in it, he reflected, his thoughts moving slower now.  _Partnership_ suggested an equal footing, while _belonging_ did not. At least not in his book. But then, neither did _devotion_ , so maybe she was just as right about being weary of that.

The sunlight left red dots behind his lids, and Severus shifted to one side to move his face into his own shadow. It was the last thing he was aware of for a while.

He woke up when a shadow fell on his once again sunlit face. Severus opened his eyes slowly, thinking that Hermione might have come back, and sat up far too quickly when the headmistress’ face swam into focus. He held his head to assuage the dizziness, rummaged in his robes for his glasses, and asked, his voice not as calm as he would have liked,

“Minerva. What brings you here?”

He looked up again to see the corners of her mouth twitch – this must be the first time Minerva McGonagall was unable to keep a stern face. She said, in her usual sharp tone,

“I assume you will be brewing burn salve later, Severus? Your face has made a valiant attempt to turn into my house colours, I’m afraid.”

 _Oh hell._ He would have thought he’d wake up before the sun got too strong. He growled,

“So, will you tell me what emergency has occurred, that you used your prerogative to locate me?”

Minerva had the gall to smile sweetly.

“Oh, it is just that Aberforth will come over for tea, and needs a briefing on his classes next week.”

Tea? How late in the day was it?

“Indran has done that for the most part, but he is starting to be difficult – I think he has realised that these guest lecturers don’t do much to ameliorate his standing with the students. And Aberforth is in a mood with me because – “

Severus waved a hand.

“I know, I know. I’ve heard the story. Let me find some burn salve and I’ll be with you in half an hour.”

As he made haste to get to his quarters, avoiding as many students as possible for fear the hasty glamour on his face might not hold, he realised with satisfaction that Minerva had finally talked to him quite normally again, without the carefulness she still employed often.

Well, if all he needed to do was to look a fool to achieve it, he wasn’t averse to doing it again, he surprised himself by thinking. Analysing Minerva’s reactions just now, he understood for the first time how very much the way Albus had made himself a laughingstock, the way the former headmaster had allowed his dignity to be compromised so often, had been a conscious strategy. Severus, for his part, had guarded his own dignity jealously, when it had been all he had. Now, it didn’t seem so vitally important anymore.


	30. Thirty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boredom, a conversation about the future, and a busy Severus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry 'bout the lack of interaction between the two here, hope you like the chapter anyway :-)

It was Sunday, and Hermione was bored. Usually, she would have read a book, but today was one of those rare occasions where none of them could hold her attention. The real problem was that she had hoped to spent some time with Severus, but he had sent a note informing her that ‘regrettably’ he would be correcting NEWT copies all day, to sent them on to the Ministry evaluators; a task his colleagues had already completed by now.

She sighed and decided to go outside. Ginny had left a while ago to play Quidditch with Draco; Harry and Ron had both disappeared who-knew-where with their respective partners. Neville was making himself scarce these days; she suspected him of having unrequited feelings for Ginny.

There were only a few of the younger years on the Quidditch pitch, so she continued on towards the broom shack, where she found Draco, sitting alone under a linden tree.

“Hey,” she greeted, and saw him grimace for a second before he replied in the same fashion. When she sat down next to him, Draco asked, sounding as if it bothered him immensely,

“How can you be so nice to me?”

Hermione didn’t really know what to say, but he already went on.

“Sometimes when I see you, I remember you at the manor – “

He broke off, seeing her distress, but spoke up again a minute later.

“We have sealed that room – no one goes in there anymore. All summer, I have helped mother to clear out cursed objects the others left behind, but we never went in there...”

Hermione had composed herself enough to reply.

“You sound very much like you regret what happened – “

Draco stared at her.

“Why, of course I regret it!”

She moved her lips into a slight smile.

“There you have it, then. That’s why it is not at all difficult to be nice to you.”

Draco looked incredulous, still, but he dropped the subject, for which she was very grateful. After a short silence, he asked,

“So, what are you going to do with all of these ‘Outstanding’ NEWTs you will doubtlessly have achieved?”

His tone was guarded, but not derisive. Hermione shrugged, trying to appear as if the question wasn’t constantly nagging at the back of her mind.

“I am not sure, really. I believe I would prefer to do Arithmancy application research; apparently I have a knack for that. And I really like it, too. I used to think that I should aim for a career in law, but I’m not so certain about that anymore...”

“I’m thinking about law,” Draco interjected, with a grimace. “Father wanted to place me at Rowena’s College in Cambridge – for an economics course, though. I hope he hadn’t started exerting his influence, or they might reject me simply on the basis of that, should I apply.”

Hermione studied his bitter expression and replied, incensed on his behalf,

“But they can’t just – “

Draco talked over her.

“Can’t they? What law would forbid it?”

Right. That was exactly the problem with wizarding law, and she said as much. Her boredom took its leave for the day once and for all, as she started in on some of the features of Muggle law she would like to see adopted in the Wizarding world. She was delighted that Draco was apparently open-minded enough to listen, albeit a bit sceptically at first. But he became more and more interested as she moved from topic to topic.

When they headed back to the castle some time later, they were coming to the end of an animated discussion about how to reform the wizarding world’s legal system. Hermione had had a few years of pent-up frustration to vent – she had started looking into these matters after Harry’s hearing for use of underage magic, and then because of Sirius’ situation, and had always been shocked at what she had found. Right now, she was saying,

“Take polyjuice, that’s another perfect example. Regulated by the ministry, and everybody understands why that is prudent. However, from a legal point of view, it is never clearly stated why. The concept of ‘identity theft’ is nowhere to be found.”

They were interrupted by Fawkes, who landed in front of them, a note in his beak. Hermione raised her eyebrows and said to the phoenix,

“Is he giving you owl duties now?”

Fawkes raised his head proudly, as if to assure her he was doing this voluntarily. She smiled and took the note, and smiled even more as the phoenix took a few tripling bird-steps towards Draco and nudged Draco’s hand with his head. She had rarely seen such a priceless look of shock as the one that crossed Draco’s face in that moment. After Fawkes had flown away again, she said,

“Let Sev – Snape explain his theory about phoenixes to you when you next see him.”

Draco nodded distractedly. Then, his eyes focused on her again, and he took a deep breath, looking slightly nervous, but determined.

“You know, I have been meaning to ask you... Isn’t it strange for you, that he is quite a bit older? That he knew me as a child?”

Hermione grimaced. Described like that, it sounded weird, she had to admit.

“I think,” she began, reflecting on it even as she spoke, “that it rarely feels strange to me, because, well, relationship-wise we’re about the same age, I guess. I mean, at least as far as I can tell, he’s not very exp – “

She broke off, looking probably as shocked as Draco did himself. Hastily, she added,

“Oh hell, don’t you ever tell him I said that to you, or he might just kill me for that.”

Draco smirked at her.

“I don’t think you are in any danger of getting killed. I, on the other hand, might not be so fortunate. So, my lips are sealed.”

He mimed spelling shut his lips with his wand in an exaggerated gesture, then dropped the act and indicated with one hand the note she still held.

“I’ll leave you to read that, then.”

Hermione didn’t really protest; she did definitely not mind getting out of this conversation. She extracted a promise, however, to continue their previous discussions at some point.

The note, when she read it, was disappointingly brief, and just plain disappointing. Severus thanked her for continuing their Pensieve solution brewing, and informed her that he would be exceedingly busy over the next days; with exams, his new duties as deputy, as well as preparations for ‘that silly ball at the leaving feast’.

A ‘ball’, really? Hermione had thought it wouldn’t be anything quite so formal, despite the Ministry presence. She wasn’t enthusiastic about a repeat of the Yule Ball, even if she knew they had all grown up since then. Severus didn’t sound too keen on the idea either, to put it mildly.

Hermione went through one of the smaller side entrances and took the first staircase down to Severus’ office, to be greeted by an irritated,

“I told you to stay away.”

He didn’t look up from the document he was reading. Hermione ignored his remark, went round his desk and reached out to tuck several strands of hair behind his ear, so that his sharp profile was visible to her. He waved a hand, vaguely, and a hair tie appeared, holding the strands together.

Still not saying a word, she placed a kiss on his temple, and on both corners of his mouth, and finally, on his nose. He opened his eyes wide at that, but remained silent still. With a quiet sigh, he finally stood and drew her into a short embrace. As they parted, Hermione said calmly,

“Have a good week. Tell me if you have a bit of time on your hands at some point.”

Severus nodded, still looking a bit baffled, and she left, wanting nothing more than to stay.

~---~

Severus was methodically destroying one of his better quills, tearing out one part of the feather after the other, instead of signing a bunch of administrative documents that he still needed to approve in his capacity as deputy head.

Hermione had quite effectively distracted him from what he was supposed to be doing, but he couldn’t bring himself to be annoyed. She had kissed his nose – his ugly, hawkish nose. Severus couldn’t recall ever having felt giddy with anything, but Hermione Granger could achieve even that. An ever more familiar wave of feeling swept through him, not unlike the warmth Fawkes was always spreading.

Making an effort to go back to his work, Severus skimmed through several contracts for the guest lecturers and signed off on them, so they could get paid. Filius didn’t mind the representative part of the deputy position, but gladly left the administrative part to him. It suited Severus well. When he arrived at ‘Dumbledore, Aberforth’, he snorted, remembering yesterday’s conversation with the man.

Ab had taken the idea of teaching quite seriously, and had therefore put up with Severus’ prickliness – he seemed to have expected it. After all, if there was one thing Severus did well, it was holding a grudge. And nearly telling Hermione about the way Aberforth had always sent women of, well, at the very least, _questionable virtue_ , to flirt with Severus when he set foot in the Hog’s Head... that definitely justified a grudge. Severus had forgiven him with difficulty for doing it in the first place; and was not at all thrilled to see him rehashing it, and in front of Hermione, as well.

He remembered how he had managed to get Aberforth to stop the whole annoying thing in the first place, a few years ago. Ab had found it all very funny, until Severus pronounced him ‘just like his brother, only a bit more mean-spirited’. That had shut him up at the time; but even Severus wasn’t cruel enough to say something similar now that Albus was dead.

Albus... well, there went his good mood. He remembered his conversation with Albus’ portrait, when there had still been a trial to win, and the twinkling painting’s insistence that he finally stop tormenting himself. Easier said than done. With a sigh, Severus got back to his work.


	31. Thirty-one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An insufferable know-it-all, adventures in decorating, an overheard conversation, and a study in self-hatred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the nicest ending for the chapter, I realise that. If you'd like a second one today, just remember: comments will get you everywhere ;-)

The Great Hall was filled with excited chatter, as they were conjuring silver bubbles, and house-coloured garlands, and even chandeliers. Hermione heard Dean Thomas explain to a bemused Draco Malfoy why the one he’d just created was made with hundreds of ‘pear-shaped glass objects’ (“They’re called light bulbs, surely you must have seen one before somewhere...”).

Professor Flitwick had enlisted the help of all of his graduating students to decorate for the upcoming feast/ball.

“No, Harry, it actually matters! There is a difference between conjuring the object first and then changing its colour, or conjuring it fully formed”, Hermione said, a little exasperated. “According to Gripplingworth’s _Best practices in transfiguration_ – which has been around for a while, by the way, as it dates back to the 17 th century – the latter will have a much better endurance ... Oh, I’m not sure why, Harry...”

“It has to do with the difference in magical energy levels on a conjured object; I am surprised you do not know that”, a deep silky voice said behind them, and Hermione whirled round, delighted at the sound, if not at the words. Severus continued with a smirk,

“I also believe you will find that Gripplingworth was already published in 1568, so you had the wrong century there, as well, my dear Miss Granger.”

Even as she realised that he was probably right, Hermione took a step towards the grinning man and said quietly, but loudly enough for Harry to hear,

“You –” a slight jab with her index finger, “are an insufferable know-it-all.”

From behind her, she heard Harry’s loud guffaw, which he stopped with difficulty from becoming a full-blown laugh. Severus sported a slightly sour face, but then huffed a sort-of-laugh as well, murmuring,

“I assume you have been waiting for your chance to say that.”

Before she could reply, he was whisked away by Flitwick. Again. Hermione sighed. This was the longest exchange they had had all week, and she found herself unreasonably missing him. It was not as if they had talked every day in recent months, far from it, so there was no justification at all for this kind of ridiculous pining.

She said as much to Harry, who shook his head at her.

“Hermione, I know I can be a bit dense when it comes to this stuff, but even I know that you can’t rationalise love.”

Harry had probably expected a smile or a denial from her, but Hermione only bit her lip and nodded.

As she moved to another section of the wall, she kept an eye out for Severus. He seemed to be speaking with Professor Flitwick, still – Hermione couldn’t actually see the Charms professor; there were tables in the way. From her viewpoint, it looked like Severus was addressing the floor.

Hermione had barely turned back to her work, when she heard footsteps approaching. She picked up Severus deep tones before Flitwick’s shrill ones.

“Nothing is decided yet, Filius.”

His tone was placating, but he sounded a bit annoyed as well, unwilling to be having the conversation, perhaps.

“I would hate to see it come to pass, you must know that,” Flitwick insisted.

Hermione mechanically continued her task, not really paying attention to it anymore. What were they talking about, sounding so serious?

Severus reply was cold.

“Oh, must I? I assume that is mainly because of the extra work it would generate for you? I didn’t have the impression you particularly cared for me in recent years.”

Staring at the wall, Hermione imagined Flitwick’s flinch, which surely had accompanied his indignant squeak.

“If you had let me, I would have long ago apologised for my behaviour during your tenure as headmaster, Severus.”

There was a slight pause. Then, Flitwick’s voice again, sounding a little astonished at not having been interrupted.

“All right. Will you please forgive this stubborn old half-goblin, for not trusting you, and making a general nuisance of himself?”

Hermione, who had given up her pretence of decorating, but had still not turned around, wondered what in Merlin’s name Professor Flitwick, always very creative with his charms, might have gotten up to that made him sound so contrite now.

Severus must have given some sort of non-verbal affirmation, because Flitwick spoke up again,

“Good, well, I hope that you will believe me now. I really cannot imagine you leaving Hogwarts.”

Hermione whirled around at that, only to find the two professors out of her line of sight, mostly obscured behind a column. That would explain why they had not stopped talking when they came into her vicinity. She nearly missed Severus reply.

“This is not solely my decision to make. I have not...”

He trailed off, and Flitwick finished for him.

“...spoken to Miss Granger, I see.”

Silence again, interrupted by Severus quiet, incredulous voice,

“What makes you think that – “

The Charms professor’s characteristic cackling giggle interrupted him.

“Oh, when you came back last Friday, I realised very quickly that I had misstepped in pulling you out of the room. You have rarely been so foul to me, even through that cursed last year of the war. So I lingered a bit, thinking you might have wanted to take your class back immediately, for some reason... but you just stood and watched her.”

Another chuckle.

“Oh, you don’t have to look embarrassed, Severus. She’s a lovely young woman, and, I sometimes think, quite an old soul, as well. You make a good match.”

“I am not embarrassed,” Severus hissed, a bit belatedly. Then, alarmed, he added,

“Where is she, Filius? Where is Her – Miss Granger?”

Hermione reacted without thinking. She cast a disillusionment charm on herself, but remembered that it would be useless if they were expressly looking for her. So she flicked her wand at a few chairs in the middle of the hall. They fell over with a loud, clattering sound. Hoping to have created a sufficient distraction, she moved as quickly as she dared back towards Harry.

As it so happened, Harry was struggling with a huge, predictably red and gold garland, which was winding itself around him of its own accord. Grinning, Hermione told him what mistake he had made in his spellwork, while she untangled the mess.

A short while later, Professor Flitwick called for them to finish and join him. Hermione looked around as she walked towards the head table. There were certainly enough decorations now, but it was all a bit chaotic. Colours, shapes, and materials adhered to the prescriptions that they had been given, but there was no real structure to them.

“What’s he doing?” Hermione heard Lavender say, and turned around just in time to see Severus raise his wand in a wide arc. With slight rustling and clinking sounds, every last object they had conjured started to move. Those of similar colours grouped themselves together, leaving intricate patterns. The chandeliers moved to new positions. Within seconds, a beautiful logic emerged from wild chaos.

Hermione grinned at the expression of shock on Severus’ face when the seventh and eighth year students burst into spontaneous applause. Giving the merest hint of a bow, he turned and quickly left the hall, his robes rippling behind him.

“See? He’s cute,” Hermione told Neville, who had come to stand beside her.

Neville only laughed.

“If you say so.”

~---~

Today, Severus hated himself. Not an uncommon occurrence, in and of itself, but today it was crippling, paralysing. There were those days when he simply felt disgusted with himself, days when he went through the motions of normality with monumental effort. This time, it had crept up on him slowly in the course of the afternoon, until he wanted to scream, or crawl into one of the many dark holes the castle so temptingly provided.

Instead, he sat through the last teacher’s conference of the year. His face schooled into an old and faithful mask of light disdain, he listened and nodded, and shot Minerva angry looks whenever she called on him. He was functioning, despite his inner mess. That surprised him anew every time.

He had been fine until after he had left the Great Hall – that last scene had left him uncomfortable, wondering whether he had been mocked, but nothing more than that, really. He was used to being denigrated; truth be told, it was much scarier to imagine that that reaction of... approval? admiration?, had been genuine.

What had gone wrong after that, Severus didn’t really know, though he supposed he could find out what was bothering him, if he applied some of his mental structuring techniques. But knowing and doing were two very different things, and he was already at the point where he ran himself down for even thinking of examining his mind. _Who knows what you will discover..._

When he hissed insults at Pomona for supposed favouritism of Neville Longbottom, Minerva had had enough. Albus had known not to call on Severus when he was this way; but Minerva was less accepting. Or perhaps it was, as his year as headmaster had shown, that she didn’t see through Severus as much, so she would be thinking that he was being horrible on purpose right now.

Minerva demanded an apology, which he gave automatically, sensing that she would let him go afterwards, and she did.

On the way to his quarters, Severus changed his mind. Hermione might be looking for him there, and right now, he would only hurt her. The courtyard was out of the question for that reason, as well.

He moved upwards in the direction of the Astronomy tower instead, thinking it an appropriate place for his mood.


	32. Thirty-two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the Astronomy tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter especially for FrancineHibiscus, InOmniaParatus, Rosiethehobbit17, and muddy_peacock ;-)  
> There might even be a bit of fluff and romance in this one.

Hermione hesitated on the last steps, and took another look at the Marauder’s map in her hands. The little dots of ‘Severus Snape’ and ‘Hermione Granger’ were side by side now. She murmured the words to blank the map and stepped out into the cool night air.

Severus was leaning against the parapet of the Astronomy tower, his form clearly visible against the night sky. He was not looking outwards as one usually did, but instead stared at her a bit wildly, rather as if he had seen a ghost. Hmm, Muggle expression, that. She wondered if there was an equivalent, with so few things impossible in the magical world.

Severus gave a jerky nod, as if confirming something to himself.

“Leave,” his rasping voice demanded.

With a flash of insight, Hermione recognised his mood as one that meant danger, danger for everybody crossing his way. She had always thought him unpredictable; how had she not known to read the signs before? Oh, she had seen them, dozens of times. The glinting eyes, the slightly hunched stance, the tightening lines around his mouth, all masking some inner pain. Only now was she connecting the dots.

Nevertheless, she took a step towards him, seeing his eyes darken with anger. Quickly, she said her part, in a voice that was less even than she would have liked.

“If I don’t do anything, if I don’t say a word, can I stay?”

His look changed to incredulousness.

“Why would you want to do that?”

She debated with herself for a second whether she should say it. He might not believe her in his current gloom. But, what else was there to say?

“You are here.”

That made him look away, then turn away as well, staring down on the Hogwarts grounds, lit by the faint light of the moon. When Severus proceeded to ignore her, Hermione moved to stand beside him, leaning her elbows on the balustrade. After a while, it became uncomfortable, so she turned and slid down the stone barrier until she sat on the floor, her back against it.

In the silence, thoughts assaulted her mind – of Severus, but also of Harry, Ron, Neville, Ginny, Draco..., of leaving Hogwarts, of Remus and Tonks and Fred..., of what she might do with her life. Mundane things, as well, like the way Ron teased Aidan about cutting his toast with a knife and fork, or the way her mother smiled when her father had said something stupid, or the habit Severus had recently picked up of looking sternly over the rim of his glasses.

After a while, it all calmed down, and she wasn’t thinking much of anything anymore when Severus suddenly turned around and sat down beside her. He sat like a tense statue, as if he had been carved into existence as a study in tension.

Carefully, slowly, she put a hand on his shoulder, and, when he didn’t show any reaction, she leaned her head on it instead, like she had done in the courtyard once. It seemed a very long time ago now.

She must have dozed off, because she woke up to gentle hands stroking her hair. She was lying with her head in his lap, she realised, her heart leaping. A small movement on her part was all it took to still his fingers in her hair.

“Don’t stop,” she murmured. Then, waking up a little more, “Feeling better?”

He didn’t answer, though his hands resumed their movement. A while later, he asked,

“Why did you stay?”

“Because you did not make me leave.”

It was a very simple thing to her – she would ever prefer being with him to being without him.

His fingers stilling again, Severus explained.

“There are bleak days, days when I cannot seem to control despair. Or rather, I know what I should do to find my way back, but cannot bring myself to do it.”

Something like amazement coloured his voice when he added,

“It was easier with you here – your presence helped to pull me out of it.”

Oh. That was...

“I’m glad.”

That might just be the most wonderful thing someone had ever said to her. Discarding the hours of reflection she had put into how to breach the subject she had been worrying about, she sat up and simply told him,

“I don’t want to be apart from you.”

Severus leaned forward, and answered from behind the curtain of hair that obscured his face, understanding what she was asking.

“I have a house. A decrepit, gloomy place, but if you can stand it, you are welcome to come and stay.”

Hermione whispered “I will”, and framed his face in her hands, pushing aside the strands of hair as she did so. She looked at him for a second, and then placed a kiss on his nose again. He flinched a little.

“Sorry. You don’t like that.”

His protest was immediate.

“No! That’s not...It only... surprised me.”

It was late in the evening, but Hermione was wide awake now. Feeling as if nothing could go wrong right now – a heady, slightly dangerous feeling – she decided to poke at what she had overheard during the discussion with Flitwick.

“You know, there’s a very good Arithmancy course at Edinburgh University. I wouldn’t be too far for the next years.”

Severus sighed, and looked at her, eyes glinting darkly in the wan light.

“I might not be here.”

There it was. Careful, now. She needed an honest answer. A direct question, then, in the hopes he might not dodge it.

“Do you want to leave? Leave Hogwarts?”

His face said ‘no’, his mouth said,

“You just proposed to limit your choices. You should not. I will go where you go.”

Hermione could do nothing but stare at him. That hadn’t occurred to her, and even if it had, she would have dismissed the idea.

“That is... thank you. Thank you! But... where would be your choices in that?”

Severus gave her a strange look. Well, yes, he had just made a very clear choice to be with her, and that was responsible for the ridiculously warm and fuzzy feeling inside her right now. But, at the same time, he might be discarding his own best interests. It was silly, but Hermione thought of Severus as someone belonging to Hogwarts in such a way that she was afraid he might wither if he moved too far away from it. An idiotic notion, but still...

“I’m accustomed to not making them,” Severus was saying.

_Oh. No, no!_

“That’s a terrible justification if ever I heard one. We are going to discuss this further. And decide together.”

She suppressed a yawn and added,

“But not tonight.”

Severus nodded his assent, but kept looking at her intently. In a rough voice, he said,

“Tomorrow’s the feast, and then you leave for Potter’s place.”

 _Right_.

“When can you be at your home?”

Another strange look; did he think her presumptuous? But he answered.

“In three days’ time. Minerva insists on some sort of individual performance review before we can leave.”

That might complicate things.

“Do you need a decision about leaving your post at that point?”

He dismissed the idea.

“No, certainly not.”

“Well, then I’ll be at your home in three days time, if you will have me.”

He looked a bit shocked again, but all he said was,

“Of course.”

Mindful of what he had revealed about a lack of choices in his past, Hermione pestered him for a while, to make sure he was truly alright with what she had essentially decided for him again. Severus stopped her with a growled,

“Granger. You are exhausting.”

A small, shrewd smile played on his lips as he continued, though his eyes showed something that might have been fear.

“But I love you anyway.”

~---~

When Hermione pulled back, Severus felt thoroughly kissed. Still, he chased her lips, giving another small press against them.

“You,” she whispered, her mouth still close to his own, “are the most wonderful man I know.”

That... he refused to think about that. Instead, he smirked.

“I very much doubt you will find anyone to agree with this sentiment.”

And just like that, they were laughing. Hermione let her head fall forward abruptly, and her hair, which she had fixed in a bun while they were talking, spilled over her face again in cascading waves. Severus looked for a hair band automatically, but she must have coiffed it with a spell only.

He pushed the wild mane back just as she said, with a wide smile,

“Their loss, then.”

Yes, their loss, Severus thought, looking at her slightly reddened cheeks and the tears of mirth that glinted in the corners of her eyes.

He watched her smile become more subdued, tender, even. Then, wistful, apparently reluctant to leave him.

She got up, and he saw her shiver as she noticed the warming charm that he had placed under them while she’d been asleep. Another bright flash of a smile.

“Thank you. I’ll see you at the feast tomorrow... tonight, I guess.”

It was late indeed. Severus bid Hermione goodnight. For a second, it looked as if she wanted to add something, but then she just turned, and, with a last smile, she disappeared down the stairs.

Severus stayed for a while, letting apprehension mount inside him. Perhaps he should feel happiness at this point, but it was a daunting prospect, wasn’t it, to change one’s life so completely? It had already begun months ago, of course, but Hermione coming to stay with him – for how long, she hadn’t said, and he hadn’t asked – that would be the first sudden shift. Until now, the changes had crept up on him. They’d surprised him, yes, but there had been time to be apart, time to think, time to hide.

He had been alone for so long – if it hadn’t been for Lily, he might not have learned how to feel close to someone, at all. And even then, it had ceased to be an equal relationship after a while. Or perhaps, it had never really been one. He had been jaded, had felt tainted from the start, and incredulous that Lily would even look at him.

Hermione didn’t make him feel so fundamentally flawed. She did not judge his awkwardness, or the many ways in which he was or had been damaged. He remembered the stone in his pocket, remembered the reverse side to the one that had frightened him so – _partnership_ , the second rune said. In contrast to _belonging_ , it was something he had never really experienced, something he had craved until he’d lost hope.

If he couldn’t shake off his apprehension completely, at least most of it slowly transformed into anticipation.

She would be with him. It was daunting, still, but wonderful as well.


	33. Thirty-three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione needs something for herself for once, we learn that couples don't talk about everything, and a surprising rockstar emerges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's getting fluffier :-)  
> And I hope you like the ending to the chapter as much as I do! Let me know what you think.

Yet again, Hermione was nervous.

A few days ago, the headmistress had explained to the head boy and girl that, even if the feast and celebration were not quite a formal ball, there would be dancing, and they were expected to open that part of the evening.

“With each other?” Xavier had asked, sounding unenthusiastic about the idea. He hadn’t seemed surprised though – he had been involved in the preparations, as Hermione would have been, as well, had she not been replacing Severus in teaching Potions so unexpectedly.

McGonagall had let them decide. And so it was that Hermione had been left without a dance partner – Xavier was seeing Lavender, it turned out.

Hermione should have asked one of her friends, after the headmistress had announced the details of the celebration in the Great Hall that day, but most of them had paired off already. And, truth be told, she hadn’t wanted to ask. Which left her in her current predicament.

“I do not have anybody to open the dance with me,” she murmured out of the corner of her mouth.

Everyone was seated at small round tables tonight, Xavier and her with several of the teachers. Professor McGonagall had given Hermione just the hint of a smile when she’d happily discovered her seat to be between Severus and Poppy.

Severus continued to look straight ahead at her remark, but his lips twitched.

“And why is that, Miss Granger?”

_Deep breath._

“Maybe I was hoping for my very own black knight in buttoned armour.”

Severus couldn’t suppress a laugh at that. Thank god – she had been apprehensive about this, quite aside from the fact that she still expected him to sneer at her quips. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw people turn towards them at the unfamiliar sound, as astonished as she had been when she’d first heard it.

He was still not looking at her.

“I wouldn’t count on me rescuing you, Milady.”

Hermione sighed. McGonagall was already shooting her a look over the rim of her spectacles – the dinner was drawing to a close now. Xavier must have told the headmistress he was dancing with Lavender.

“The boys all have dates by now. Shall I ask Hagrid, then?”

Another laugh, though he tried to mask it as a cough, probably to avoid more attention being directed their way. His gaze wandering from Hagrid to Minerva, to the group of Ministry officials and the assorted Weasley clan, Severus replied,

“I think we should leave him in Minerva’s capable arms, as usual. Well, go on then. Shock them if you like.”

Her heart leapt. He had agreed, right? And not a second too early. McGonagall got up, announcing the first band for the evening, and adding a few words about the occasion.

They had invited a small group of classical musicians for the formal part, but later, a student group would play as well, Hermione had been amazed to discover. Nobody could tell her who was in it, however.

She forgot all about that for the time being, as the headmistress’ little thank you speech to the rebuilders of Hogwarts came to a close.

Xavier had made his way towards Lavender’s table during that time, and she could see people glancing over at her, speculation about her still-alone state plain in their eyes. When Severus stood, and took a step back to execute a formal bow, there were whispers, as she’d known there would be.

She kept her eyes firmly on Severus as they stepped out into the large clear space in the middle of the Great Hall. When the music took up and they moved into the first steps of the waltz, Hermione smiled. She had been sure he would be a good dancer... Severus shattered her illusions with a quiet comment.

“You are lucky I know how to brew a ‘perfect-rhythm’- potion. I am a terrible dancer.”

 _Oh. Right._ But why had he...

“So you did expect me to ask you?”

Hermione lifted her head slightly to look up at him. He didn’t miss a step, which was not that surprising, given the potion. Severus grimaced.

“Potter warned me.”

“What?”

Harry had been her ‘emergency dancer’, should Severus have said no (Luna had agreed to the plan with a vague smile, seeming to believe it unnecessary). When Severus had accepted just now, Hermione had put her DA-gallon to a much more mundane use than it had usually seen, and had signalled Harry that he was not needed. She would never have thought that he’d talk to Severus about it beforehand, though – as far as she knew, they still mostly avoided each other.

“You should be glad,” Severus continued, again with a slight grimace, as if it pained him to advise her to be thankful to Harry.

“I might not have reacted so calmly without prior warning.”

He was right, of course; it had been one of her more silly ideas...

“And you will still be able to use your feet after this dance, thanks to my foresight,” Severus continued with a slight smirk. Hermione laughed delightedly, relieved that he wasn’t angry with her. She felt people staring at them again, and asked quietly,

“Have I got us into trouble?”

Severus didn’t answer immediately – a rustling of robes filled the air as quite a few other pairs chose that moment to move onto the dance floor, following the headmistress’ lead, who was indeed steering Hagrid across the hall with an astonishing almost-gracefulness.

A few steps later, Severus murmured his response.

“I do not believe so. There might be some speculation in the _Prophet_ , but a dance is just a dance, even if it is one with a former teacher and Death Eater...”

That had been her assessment as well; otherwise she would have refrained from asking him. She stumbled slightly, though, when he added,

“As long as we don’t announce our marriage for tomorrow, we should be fine.”

Hermione had a feeling she needed to think about that as soon as she was alone. When she saw his concern about her reaction and his embarrassment about what he had just blurted out (and when had that happened, by the way, him relaxing enough to not weigh every word before he spoke it?), she whispered,

“I would like to kiss you right now, but we said we’d avoid the scandal.”

Severus gave the tiniest hint of a smile, and bent down to whisper into her ear,

“Severus Snape lives at Number 11, Spinner’s End, Manchester.”

Then he continued, without changing the tone from the quiet seriousness with which he had imparted his secret-kept address,

“I believe you might be in some trouble with Molly Weasley.”

He executed a turn, and Hermione saw that Molly was indeed glaring at her, while Arthur seemed intent on moving her away from them. The dance floor was rather packed by now, with even the younger students joining in, so Arthur achieved his goal easily. But the first dance was drawing to a close, anyway. As the strings played the last notes, Hermione said quietly,

“Thank you for this. I’ll go talk to her.”

She refrained from the kiss on the cheek she would have liked to give him, and handed Severus over to Poppy, who had appeared out of nowhere. He looked astonished, but didn’t protest.

Hermione had no trouble finding Mrs. Weasley: as soon as she emerged from the throng of people moving to and from the dance floor, her shoulder was grabbed with an insistent “Hermione, dear,” and she was marched off to an at least mostly quiet corner.

“Arthur just told me he knew about this,” Molly fairly hissed at her. Hermione tried a smile, a little surprised that Arthur had apparently kept something from his wife.

“Hello, Mrs. Weasley.”

The woman she had addressed thusly deflated a little right then and there, giving her automatic ‘You should call me Molly’-response. But then she looked fierce once more.

“What is going on here?”

Hermione thought it best to suss out what her problem was, and asked carefully,

“You do know that Ron is...”

Molly waved it off, seeming to consider her son’s new relationship old news.

“Oh, yes, yes, he wrote to us after the kidnapping, of course.”

Well, at least that was not something she was supposed to talk about. This old wizarding family did not seem to have a problem with homosexuality, but then, coming from the Weasleys, that would have astonished her.

“So, what is it that you are asking, exactly?”

Molly stared at her.

“Well, I want an explanation for what is going on with Severus, of course.”

Hermione thought privately that, as nice as she had been to her in the past, Molly Weasley had no right to demand that of her – but she went along with it. It would not do to provoke more of an argument unnecessarily.

“Is it because he was my teacher that you feel the need to ask me that?”

Molly waved her hand dismissively again, looking surprised.

“No, no. Until recently, that was not that uncommon, after all, though it its quite sudden, I suppose.”

 _Until recently?_ Well, Hermione had learned that wizards sometimes thought in slightly larger time-spans than Muggles. Molly tilted her head at her, seemingly finding it difficult to voice her objection. _Good_.

She finally settled on,

“Severus is a difficult man.”

Hermione smiled.

“I know.”

Molly raised her eyebrows, but continued.

“He can be angry, and spiteful, and hurtful.”

Hermione nodded.

“I know.”

Molly looked a bit thrown by her calmness.

“Don’t you think, dear, that he might... hurt you?”

Hermione settled on as much honesty as she dared to employ.

“We had only one real fight over the last months, and that was resolved a few hours later.”

Molly’s voice went shrill,

“Months?”

Hermione shushed her, and cast a discreet _Muffliato_ , fearing people would try to listen in if they sensed an argument. She answered, slowly but surely arriving at the limits of her patience,

“It is none of your business, but yes, ‘months’.”

Molly did not give up.

“Are you about to tell me that nothing untoward has happened during that time?”

Well, now Hermione was getting angry. What was the woman thinking, if she didn’t disapprove on principle, but acted shocked anyway? That a relationship could have developed during the last week, maybe? She forced her voice into calmness, but the words came out as a slight hiss nevertheless.

“No, I am not about to tell you that, as I do not know your definition of the word ‘untoward’. As you must know by now, Severus is an honourable man, and that should be all you need to know, really.”

Molly opened her mouth, but shut it again, without having said a word. Hermione turned to see Severus and Poppy approaching them, Poppy with both hands over her ears. Quickly, she lifted the _Muffliato_.

“Using my spell, Miss Granger?” Severus said to her, with a smile in his eyes that seemed to be a response to her ‘thank you for rescuing me’-look. He and Poppy both greeted Molly, and somehow the mediwitch pulled the latter aside, before Molly could do more than glare at Severus.

Hermione smiled at Severus, and asked him if he’d care for another dance.

“The potion is wearing off,” he replied, with a beautiful blush. Nodding towards a whole group of her friends, who had apparently had enough of dancing for the time being, Severus added quietly,

“Go to your friends, Hermione.”

Then, apparently realising it might come across as dismissive, he clarified the statement.

“You should. It is your last evening at Hogwarts.”

“And I’ll see you in two days,” Hermione added, trying not to sound too eager, and failing.

Severus nodded; an indefinable look in his eyes that she would have loved to be able to interpret.

It was an awkward goodbye, but with all the guests in the castle, Hermione would definitely not go and meet him in his workroom or quarters, or even the courtyard, afterwards, as much as she might want to do just that.

She shook his hand, and pressed it firmly for a second, and then she turned towards her friends, without looking back.

~---~

Severus looked after Hermione for a few seconds. When he turned away, he found Kingsley Shacklebolt standing beside him.

“Congratulations are in order, I believe,” the Minister said with a slight grin, adding,

“Although that display earlier was a bit risky, my friend. It might have been more prudent to wait for another occasion.”

Severus grimaced, and reminded himself that, for the most part, he liked Kingsley.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, she wanted to dance, who am I to deny her that?”

He pulled out a glare that was usually reserved for unfortunate students. It made even Kingsley put placating hands up for a second.

“Did Minerva talk to you?” Severus asked, wanting to assess just how obvious they had been.

Kingsley nodded, but asserted,

“That dance would have made it clear to me, in any case. I don’t think it is quite so obvious to everybody, if that is any consolation. It’s just that I have never seen you so at ease with another person.”

Severus did not have these kinds of conversations with anybody, and this one was making him decidedly uncomfortable. But Kingsley had called him a friend, so he refrained from nasty remarks to drive him off; at least for the time being.

Kingsley seemed oblivious to Severus’ inner debate, and completely at ease.

“Has Miss Granger decided what she will study? Provided that I am elected, I would love to have her at the Ministry in a few years’ time.”

Severus raised an eyebrow at him.

“Are you in any doubt that the Wizengamot will confirm you? It would be monumentally stupid for them not to, given your popularity.”

Kingsley grinned.

“Thank you; but don’t dodge the question.”

Severus sighed.

“There’s nothing decided yet. Arithmancy is most likely, though I doubt she will work for the Ministry.”

That seemed to be more or less what Kingsley had expected, judging from the look on his face. He only asked,

“At Edinburgh, then?”

Severus refrained from another sigh. ‘Friends’ were nosy; he should have done well to remember it.

“As I said, there’s nothing decided yet. We will discuss it, but I have offered to move wherever she decides to go and leave the school, if necessary.”

Kingsley looked very astonished at that, and Severus sneered to mask his insecurity. Why should that be so surprising to everybody?

“Hasn’t Minerva talked to you about that, as well?”

Kingsley’s reply astonished him, though Severus berated himself immediately that he should have seen the signs. It was a good thing he did not miss his spying career – he was obviously losing his touch.

“She does not tell me everything, just as Miss Granger does not tell you everything, I suspect.”

The disadvantage to shedding his usual blank, occluded face for the most part, Severus discovered, was that people could now tell he was masking emotion because his face lost its expression. Kingsley laughed his deep, barking laugh.

“Aren’t you going to congratulate me, Severus?”

With only slight ill grace, he did just that, still miffed that he could have missed that new relationship. He spent most of the rest of the evening discussing politics with Kingsley, who, in comparison to their last meeting, seemed to have fewer qualms about revealing his Unspeakable problems, now that they were mostly solved.

He missed Hermione only most of the time, instead of all of the time, as he would have predicted.

When, a while later, the student band set up, Severus listened to Kingsley’s story of how he and Minerva had discovered them on a walk through the castle, practicing in an abandoned classroom, and of how Kingsley had convinced the headmistress to let them play tonight.

Kingsley had not given him names, though, so Severus looked up at the first guitar notes. Unfortunately, he was unable to see the band for the throng of students that had gathered around it. The song was a Weird Sister’s cover, he realised, though it had been slowed down a bit, which suited the melancholy lyrics rather well.

The singer had a deep, pleasant voice, and Severus had to know who it was now; a suspicion forming in the back of his mind. He used a mild hovering charm on himself, and was able to look over the crowd, and straight at Neville Longbottom.


	34. Thirty-four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fan-mail, decursing, pizza, and housecleaning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter at Grimmauld Place before we move on to Spinner's End...  
> I'm really glad so many people seem to follow and enjoy the story! XXX to all of you!

Hermione ran into Neville on her way to the upstairs room that had been declared the makeshift owlery, what with several of the birds living in the house right now. Grimmauld Place was a bit of a madhouse at the moment, as Luna, Ron, Aidan, Ginny, Draco, Neville and Hermione herself had all decided to move in with Harry for the time being.

To help Harry renovate, of course. But first they would make the chaos worse, it seemed. The idea of the owlery had come up quickly, when Draco’s eagle owl, which had become fast friends with Pigwidgeon, took to harassing the owls that were arriving for Neville. Crookshanks had been grateful to see the owls being moved, as well.

Hermione smiled at Neville, who held several letters in his hands again.

“Wondering what to write back to your fans?”

Neville blushed furiously, and mumbled something. His performance yesterday night had been more than well received; but as payback for not telling any of them beforehand, they had all taken to teasing him a bit about his fan mail. Hermione grinned, as she remembered something.

“Do you still want to become a hermit?”

Neville’s face got redder, if that was even possible, and he smacked her on the arm with the letters. Then, he surprised her by coming back with,

“And you? Writing to your dark, brooding lover, I suppose?”

Hermione blushed a little at that herself. He was right, of course. Apart from her parents, whom else would she be writing to, with all of her close friends in this house at the moment?

Neville, thankfully, left her alone when she nodded a bit bashfully, and disappeared downstairs with a grin.

Downstairs, where everyone was fighting doxies and other vermin that had found its way into the abandoned house, and where Draco was explaining to them which cursed objects to dispose off immediately, and how.

Hermione sat down in the room under the roof that held a few perches, newly transfigured from chairs, and now also had an open hatch for the owls to fly through at will, and wrote a short message to Severus.

After she’d sent Pig off with it, she remembered about his request not to send that particular owl to him and Fawkes. Would Fawkes come with Severus tomorrow? she wondered. As far as she knew, Spinner’s End was located in a Muggle environment. Well, she would see. _Tomorrow_.

She went back to her friends, and found them in the kitchen, where, much to Ginny’s delight, Aidan was berating Ron loudly for suggesting ‘the girls’ should thing about cooking something for lunch. They finally settled on ordering pizza, because Draco explained that he’d never had one; to the general amusement and dismay of the room.

A good half hour later, Hermione took another slice of something that had spinach and champignons on it, as well as... pine nuts, maybe?, and plopped down next to Harry on one of the restored couches in the room adjacent to the library, which they had declared to be the living room.

“Harry,” she began, watching pizza disappear in his mouth at an alarming rate, “I know we all said we’d be here to help, but... I might be leaving for a few days tomorrow.”

Harry raised his eyebrows at her, swallowed, and replied,

“You might be?”

She explained that she would see Severus tomorrow (“Of course”, said Harry), and that they hadn’t really discussed how long she would stay (“Right”, said Harry). He grinned at her.

“Don’t forget about us completely, okay?”

Hermione berated him for even thinking such a thing, but she was glad to know he did not expect her back very soon. She looked across the room, where Aidan was still ignoring Ron, instead pestering Neville about which fangirl their new residing rockstar should go on a date with.

Ron, for his part, had a slightly pained look on his face, and was very pointedly not looking at one of the couches. Draco and Ginny were snogging over there. _Finally_ , Hermione thought.

She cast a careful glance at Harry, who had followed her look as well. He smiled at her.

“Yeah, that’s going to be a bit weird for a while.”

Luna, who was sitting on his other side, spoke up in her calm, even voice,

“Really? Why do you think so?”

Harry laughed a little.

“Because my ex is dating my former sworn enemy?”

Luna smiled broadly at him.

“Oh, I think you’re all right with it.”

Harry smiled at her fondly.

“Yeah, I am.”

Hermione missed Severus. He might have had an acerbic comment to make about the soppy looks those two were directing at each other.

With some relief, she noticed everyone had finished eating, and so they went back to work. In the early evening, they had transformed most of the bedrooms into an acceptable state – Draco had been a great help, as he had done the same kind of work at the manor over the last summer.

“Does your mother know where you are?” Hermione asked him, while they were checking another row of doors for curses. Draco had insisted they finish that work today – “Otherwise you just forget, and walk through a still-cursed doorway automatically at some point.” It had sounded as if he was speaking from painful experience.

“I have told her, yes.”

Shooting her an assessing look, he added,

“She’s delighted, of course.”

Hermione gestured for him to elaborate, without pausing in her work of removing a nasty bundle of tripping curses. They had been cast separately on every inch of the floor inside the doorway. Someone must have been bored. Meanwhile, Draco obliged her with an answer.

“You might have realised that mother adapts rather easily to changes – that is not to say that she does not have any principles. It just means, well, that she is not interested in ideology. It makes her very different from my father’s twisted kind of idealism; but also able to tolerate that sort of thing, I believe.”

Hermione finished her work, and looked up. Draco looked faintly shocked at what he had revealed, and added quickly,

“Anyway, so she has no problem with Potter.”

She couldn’t help asking, despite knowing he might not take it well.

“Even if he didn’t speak up for your father?”

He looked very uncomfortable, so she added quickly,

“You don’t have to answer that.”

“How generous of you to give me a choice,” Draco replied, some of his old haughty arrogance suddenly colouring his tone; but he shook it off again just as quickly.

“His incarceration is horrible for her,” he said, sounding strained.

“Especially because the conditions in Azkaban are still... not good. It makes me feel all the more guilty – for the wave of relief that hit me when I understood he would not be around to interfere in my life anymore.”

Hermione was immensely glad Severus’ trial had been annulled so quickly. Just for a second, she’d imagined herself visiting Azkaban with Narcissa Malfoy...

“Have you been to visit him?”

Draco nodded.

“I am still his son, there’s not all that much I can do about that. Can we not talk about this any longer?”

Hermione granted his request, after she had explained that she thought he should discuss the imprisonment conditions with Harry.

“He will not speak up to free your father, but he will try to do something about that problem, I am sure. I could also set up a meeting with Kingsley for your mother, if you wish.”

To her surprise, Draco had agreed without a show of pride.

A short while later, Ginny joined them, and Hermione watched with amazement how his mood lightened, how they joked about this or that silly idea – Draco had always seemed to her to be an overly serious person; she couldn’t recall ever seeing him so unselfconscious.

“Earth to Hermione,” she heard Ginny say, and Hermione became aware of the fact that she had tuned them out.

“Sorry, yes?”

“Draco here is wondering...”, Ginny started. He hissed “Don’t.”, but she went on unfazed, “...what you were saying to Snape yesterday at the feast that made him laugh so loudly.”

Draco looked slightly mortified, but he explained,

“I have never seen him laugh in this manner – and I have known him since I was three years old...”

The warm and fuzzy feeling inside of her translated into a grin. Bracing herself for their reactions, she said,

“Oh, that. I called him ‘my very own black knight in buttoned armour’.”

“What?” Draco fairly shouted, but then had to join in on Ginny’s rambunctious laughter, which drew the rest of their friends to them. They had apparently just finished de-cursing the doorways on the third and second floor.

The whole thing was explained again, and everybody laughed. Neville was the only one who quieted down fairly quickly, and said to her,

“I wouldn’t have thought he could laugh at himself.”

He sounded baffled, as if still not quite ready to believe that Severus Snape could be human, after all.

So, after dinner, Hermione sat down in a corner with Neville, and told him what Severus had had to do with that prophecy that had so affected Harry; but Neville as well. People tended to forget the consequences it had had for Neville, but Severus certainly hadn’t. In her opinion, it explained a lot about how he had treated Neville in class until recently.

“Oh Merlin”, Neville said, when she’d finished her tale, looking more sad than horrified.“He feels guilty about it, is that it? And he lashes out when he feels bad about something?”

Hermione nodded, marvelling that he understood it so well. It became less surprising when he added,

“After I’d heard about the prophecy, I felt guilty, you know. If it hadn’t been for me, my parents...”

Hermione interrupted him.

“Neville! That’s horrible; don’t even think that for a second.”

Neville gave her a slightly exasperated look.

“I try not to.”

Hermione accepted that, but couldn’t help but mention that she thought Severus did the opposite – she didn’t know for certain, but she definitely had the feeling he often welcomed the guilt during his worse moods.

“Merlin,” Neville said again. “Good luck with that.”

Just then, Pigwidgeon came fluttering into the kitchen, where they had gone to clean the dishes. Hermione took the note from the owl and left Neville to feed her some scraps from their dinner, while she read Severus’ missive.

It was short and to the point, as always, informing her that he had just arrived at Spinner’s End ( _I have apparated that annoying bird here, to save it some of the journey_ ) and that she should not come over before lunchtime tomorrow, as the house was apparently in a chaotic state. _That is, if you still wish to join me._

“Idiot,” Hermione murmured, and then laughed aloud at the last passage, written in response to something she had told him in her letter this morning.

“There, read the last sentences,” she said to Neville, who was looking at her curiously. She enjoyed the look on his face immensely, when he did so.

_By the way, I am not surprised that Longbottom gets fan mail. With that voice, he can certainly take his pick of whom he wants to shag. Don’t tell him I said that._

 ~---~

Severus fell into bed around three at night. He had exhausted himself on purpose, in the hopes it might make him tired enough that he would actually sleep. He still hoped that it might work, even when his mind decided to replay some of the events of the day first, now that he was finally resting.

He’d had a long talk with Minerva, who had made him the tempting offer of letting him teach Potions and Defence; both only at OWL- to NEWT-level. He had never been in a position where he could even contemplate to quit, and had been very surprised at the kind of leverage the suggestion of it seemed to have granted him. Well, there were few Potions masters in Britain, and the school could of course never pay any of them the kind of money they made from selling the more complicated potions or custom-made brews.

He would discuss this with Hermione, Severus thought, and then paused, still slightly uncomfortable at the thought of depending on someone else for any matter. If he was honest with himself, he had purposefully avoided thinking about the boggart in the cupboard until now – he had basically deluded himself into thinking there was still a choice to make, when, in fact, his well-being was so very influenced by her. His current mixture of contentment and anticipation – a combination that someone else might have identified as happiness – was a fragile thing, ready to evaporate if Hermione changed her mind.

It did make him feel like a parasite sometimes, like someone who took much more than he gave. Though, strangely enough, she seemed to think that what he did give of himself was sufficient. Severus remembered with an almost fond smile the nervous little owl that had been back late at night with a slightly annoyed note from Hermione, informing him in no uncertain terms that he was indeed to expect her tomorrow in the early afternoon.

At least, she would find a more or less acceptable place to stay. When he had arrived in the evening, he had cleaned through the house with a fury, face crinkling in disgust as he discovered and incinerated some clothes Pettigrew had forgotten in a cupboard; grimacing as his Reductor curse on what had to be one of the last photographs that existed of his Dad had refused to work; and smiling as he removed the dust motes, but left the piles of books in the living room as he had found them, reasoning that she would appreciate them being there.

Tomorrow, there would still be all kinds of charms to set and other spellwork to do. Maybe he could even start in on clearing out the attic; something he had planned on doing years ago, but had never had the leisure and motivation to actually realise. Having arrived at that safe topic, Severus finally fell asleep.


	35. Thirty-five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spinner's End, an unexpected ghost from the past, and... well, you'll see, dear readers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm evil for stopping there; but you'll have to wait until tomorrow for the rest, I'm afraid. Don't be mad at me :-)

After a rather exhausting discussion with Kreacher (who had been working at Hogwarts during the school year and had come back to Grimmauld Place yesterday night, shooting angry glances at the empty pizza boxes in the bin), Hermione gave up on baking or cooking anything. She reluctantly instructed Kreacher on what she needed, but had to admit she wasn’t unhappy to go back to helping her friends with the house.

She didn’t particularly like cooking anyway, had only felt obligated to bring something when she went to Severus’ place, especially as she suspected that without the Hogwarts lunchtime, Severus would forget to eat. As to her personal things, she had only packed a small-looking bag that had been enlarged on the inside; she did not dare presume how long she would be welcome to stay.

Not for the first time, she wondered whether they might fight, or worse, have nothing to say to each other. Whether it could all fall apart during the first few minutes in this new environment. She tried not to give in to her pessimism.

“I think I’ll leave now,” she finally said to Harry, who promptly called a _Sonorus_ -enforced “House meeting!”, and made her endure awkward hugs and stupid grins from her friends. She promised to write, and come by in a few days, and finally extracted herself by threatening to tell them exactly what she found sexy about Severus. Suddenly, they all needed to get back to their work.

Hermione apparated to the Leaky Cauldron, to stop by Flourish & Blotts for this year’s _Magical_ _University Course Catalogue_ , and then to Manchester in three jumps. She walked through grey streets on the edge of the town. The weather had taken a turn for the worse, and it appeared to fit the surroundings rather well. Some of the houses were in a good state, with a tiny well-kept garden and kids’ toys lying around; an aspiration after a middle-class home. Others looked older and slightly crumbling; others still (apartment blocks mostly) were clearly empty, with broken windows and warning signs to keep out.

She rounded a corner, following the Point-me-spell of her wand, which she had half-hidden away in her bag. The road she’d turned into was a dead end, with only a handful of houses on either side. Most of them seemed uninhabited. A faint smell of brackish water permeated the air.

Looking around, her eyes were drawn to a gap between the brick houses, where an additional one slowly shimmered into existence, changing its appearance slightly as soon as she focussed on it. Curtains appeared behind the windows, and the black piece of iron forming the number eleven righted itself, where it had previously looked as if it would fall to the ground any minute now.

Hermione smiled, walked through an invisible wall of wards that sent a shudder through her, and knocked. The door opened almost instantly, and Hermione nearly recoiled from the scowl on Severus face. Her greeting died on her lips, and she took a step inside, spelling the door shut behind her.

“What is it?” she said quietly, and leaned against his rigid form. Where he had tensed up at her touch during the first months, Severus relaxed instantly now, murmuring,

 “Nothing.”

She shook her head, even as his arms came around her to hold her close, and he sighed, giving in to her demand for an explanation.

“I just unearthed a small portrait of my grandmother in some long-forgotten drawer in the attic.”

It took her a second to realise what might be disconcerting about that.

“On your mother’s side, I take it?”

Another sigh.

“Yes.”

“And you talked to her.”

A huff.

“Of course I did, she had been lying in there alone for about twenty years – she has another portrait somewhere, but apparently that one is secreted away in a mostly forgotten room, as well. She bombarded me with questions.”

Hermione reached up, and tipped her lips to his, a mere suggestion of a kiss. Severus responded with such fierceness that she forgot about her next question for a while. Finally, she remembered, and pulled back a little, still framing his face in her hands.

“And you were honest with her?”

It wasn’t really a question; she was pretty sure about it already. Severus was looking at her intently.

“Yes. The conversation had already dissolved into a shouting match when you knocked.”

_Wonder why that could be._

“Where is she?”

Severus stared.

“You don’t want to see her. She...”

He could only hurry after Hermione, who had heard a faint call of ‘Severus?’ from one of the adjacent rooms. The door she stepped through led to the kitchen, where the portrait was laying face-down on a wooden table. Hermione turned it around, and stared at a stern, but rather beautiful woman in Victorian dress. The painted lady looked surprised for a second, but then her gaze turned tumultuous.

“Are you the mudblood?”

Behind her, Hermione heard Severus take an uneven breath, but she held up a hand to forestall his comments, and answered,

“Mrs. Prince. How... charming to make your acquaintance. If you use that word again in front of me, you are going straight back into your drawer.”

The elderly woman looked mutinous, but before she could reply, Hermione turned a rather nasty smile on her, and asked her whether she had been acquainted with Walburga Black in her lifetime. At the witch’s astonished nod, Hermione told her just how friendly the old hag at Grimmauld Place had become yesterday, after Hermione had shown her the Muggle paint remover she had modified to make it work on magical paint.

A gasp, a glare, and then: silence.

Hermione took the frame in both hands and turned to ask a floored-looking Severus,

“Where do you want to put her?”

They decided on the living room, provided that Catlena Prince would remain civil for the time being. Hermione took one look around, and left Severus to hang up the portrait, immediately absorbed in reading the titles of the dozens of books piled up around an old, worn armchair by the fireplace. They had apparently not found space in the shelves lining the walls, or maybe they were favourites of Severus’. The small room had a lovely, book-crammed atmosphere to it, and she soaked it in, startling a little when a hand was placed on her shoulder.

“I don’t suppose I will ever be able to compete with your love for the written word,” she heard Severus say, and she discerned a note of wistfulness, masked under amusement.

Hermione turned around lightning-fast, throwing herself into a wild kiss, which Severus returned rather enthusiastically. Her hands roamed over his back and finally settled on his arse, drawing a groan from him that she heard and felt simultaneously.

The scandalised muttering of Mrs. Prince made them draw apart, and Hermione pulled Severus out into the hallway. The sexual tension, palpable only a few seconds before, moved to the background, as they took one look at each other and started to laugh.

Finally, Severus took a calming breath and tilted his head, asking,

“How did you know about her?”

“Poppy remembered something about her, but not much.”

He looked away.

“You talked to Poppy about me.”

He sounded disappointed somehow, or maybe apprehensive.

“When you weren’t talking to me, after the article,” Hermione couldn’t help but add, and he scowled, but let her drop the topic with the suggestion that they should take lunch together, “unless you have eaten?” He hadn’t.

They sat down at the kitchen table with the excellent roast Kreacher had prepared, and Hermione started chattering about this and that, until Severus increasingly monosyllabic answers quieted her. She finished her plate in silence, and looked up to find him staring at her.

Hermione copied his head-tilting gesture in a silent ‘What?’ and he said quietly,

“This is the first time I’ve felt comfortable in this house.”

She couldn’t think of anything to say to that, so she pushed back her chair and went around the table, wandlessly moving it a few inches as she went, making enough space to settle down on his lap for a kiss. Severus held onto her shoulders and reciprocated. Soon, long fingers slid under her blouse, at the back of her neck, stroking over the first vertebra, and down her spine as far as the cloth would let him.

Hermione shivered, broke the kiss, drew a steadying breath, and asked.

~---~

Severus gulped back whatever sound threatened to escape him, and stared at Hermione, who had just asked to be shown the bedroom. He was suddenly more nervous than he’d ever been, or so it seemed to him in this moment.

Oh, he had never been comfortable with sex, of course. From the beginning, he had come to it with the expectation of rejection. However, on more than one occasion, what had transpired had felt somehow worse than outright rejection might have. Severus had been with women who had taken one look at his awkward fumbling and had proceeded to bat his hands away, to touch themselves, leaving him to find satisfaction and humiliation at the same time.

He had remained silent too long already – Hermione was whispering,

“Unless you’d rather not.”

In lieu of an answer, Severus laid both hands on her jeans-clad hips and pushed her gently downwards, so that she felt the growing bulge that was hidden by the folds of his robes. Eyes wide, he registered how her eyelids fluttered shut with a rather breathy moan.

Acting purely on impulse, he picked her up, casting a quick strengthening spell on himself as he carried her towards the narrow stairs; delighting in the little cry of surprise she gave. He managed not to drop her too abruptly onto the bed when the spell gave out a few seconds before they had reached it.

Hermione drew him down towards her immediately.


	36. Thirty-six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No summary needed for this one, I don't think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In a hurry, but I can't very well let you wait another day, now, can I? So I wanted to do the story justice, and I don't think a fade to black would have achieved that. I had ideas about this chapter (not too perfect, not too akward etc.) but in the end I simply wrote something down in one go. Hope you'll find it acceptable :-)

Between kisses, Hermione started to undress Severus, not even pausing when she heard him spell the curtains shut. The room had a window somewhere, and the sun had just come out, shining a nearly blinding light on partway exposed skin. Now, a dim twilight reigned, except for two streaks on the wall, where the sun bypassed the curtains.

Hermione drew out her wand, and muttered a button-opening spell, before she pushed the wand towards the night table. It rolled too far, and fell to the floor with a clattering noise, but she paid it no heed. The buttons on all of their clothing had sprung open, and Severus was pushing away the fabric of her blouse, running his long fingers over her shoulders and down her sides with a look of such awe on his face that she had to swallow a lump in her throat.

He was clearly not seeing her as she saw herself (slender, more or less, but a bit sturdy, with rather small breasts, and too-strong thighs; nothing special). She needed to get his robes off now, and pulled at them until he made an annoyed sound, and threw them off himself, without really paying attention to what he was doing, his hand immediately returning to caress her skin, and then to cup her breasts through her bra.

“Take it off,” Hermione murmured, and lifted herself up a little. His hands followed the fabric to her back, and he fumbled with the clasp, a blush forming on his face; a blush so strong that she could see it even in the dim light. She smiled at him, struck by a strong wave of tenderness towards him, and something like incredulity flickered in his eyes.

The clasp finally came undone, the bra was pulled away, and Severus hid his face between her breasts. Hermione gasped as he turned his head to one side and sucked on a nipple. She ran her hands over his back, as far as she could reach, slowing down as she found scars, tracing them. Another one. And another, and another...Too many of them.

Severus had gone completely still, but now he looked up at her, his expression raw. He sat back, pulling at her jeans, and she let him. Her hands reached for his belt, but it moved out of range as he extracted her from the jeans. Her slip was dragged down partway as well, so she shimmied out of it. Severus stared for just a second, and then he turned away and stood, undoing his trousers and stepping out of them, bending down to remove his socks, which reminded her to do the same. He remained with his back to her for too long; his thin, wiry body tensing up. Hermione pulled herself into a kneeling position on the bed, and reached out towards him.

Without a word, she drew her hands over the scars on his back again, seeing their uneven edges, but keeping her questions for later, moving on without lingering to the waistband of his black underwear, pulling it down over his arse slowly, a satisfied smile playing on her lips as she watched his cheeks clench. She let go of that last obscuring piece of fabric, and, as it fell down, pushed her thumbs into the still tensed up muscles.

Severus made a noise that was nearly a sob, and turned suddenly, bringing her face in rather close contact with his erect cock. Before he could be mortified at that, as Hermione just knew he would be in a second, she looked up at him with a mischievous smile, and licked the length of him from root to tip. She kept the head in her mouth, swirling her tongue around it slowly. Severus’ hips jerked forward a little, once, twice, and then he pulled back with a long groan.

He claimed her lips in a messy kiss, and leaned into her, until she let herself sink back into the pillows. Proceeding to lick and suck at her throat, he began to kiss his way downwards, between her breasts, tongue dipping into her navel, and then... he paused. Hermione had shut her eyes, waiting for his tongue _there,_ but when some time passed, measured by the fast rhythm of her heart, she whispered,

“ _Please_.”

Still, the touch didn’t come immediately; but she finally felt his fingertips ghosting over the line where her pubic hair began, and then there was a tentative lick at her folds. She made an encouraging noise, and the tongue burrowed in a little more, the tip of his nose brushing against her clit. She sucked in a whimpering breath.

“ _There_ ,” she gasped, and cried out quietly when he understood, and flicked his tongue against it, and then – ohgod – sucked at it, before moving lower, still suckling and lapping up her fluids. Fingers ghosted over her inner lips, and he paused again, making her cry out in a frustrated,

“Yes. Godammit!”

She heard the hitch in his already harsh breathing – it might have been an attempt at a chuckle – and then he slowly, oh so slowly pushed one finger in. Hermione moved against it, getting impatient, and he added a second one quickly, his tongue returning to her clit. It throbbed, and she moaned.

After a while of this bliss, she put her hands in his hair and pulled, lifting her head form the pillows to look down. He gave a last flick of the tongue and looked up, an utterly indescribable look on his face – eyes wild, lips glistening.

“Get on with it,” Hermione growled, not recognising her own voice, and saw the look on his face change; pleased vulnerability flickering over his traits. She clenched around his fingers, when he moved to pull them out, and loved the low rumbling noise in his chest that provoked. He pinned her with his impossibly black eyes, and moved up for a kiss, lining himself up, pushing in just this side of too fast.

There was a sharp burst of pain for a second, and a second of uncomfortable fullness, but it was changing to pleasure even as she cried out; the shocked noise turning into a satisfied whimper. Nevertheless, it provoked one of his damn pauses again, even as she felt him tremble, trying to hold back.

“Move,” she hissed, and he complied, finding her gaze again as he rocked into her, faster and faster, groaning loudly as she moved her hands to his arse again, fingers rubbing at the spot where his tailbone ended. And then, with visible effort, face clenched in concentration, he slowed down. Pulled out almost completely, pushed in again so very slowly. And again. And again. It sent a thousand nerve endings on fire, and she made a desperate sound, and started to come.

It took longer than she was used too, the waves pulsing through her body, as he pushed in faster again, snapping his hips until he came, with a stuttering moan, just as she started to quiet down. She held him through it, and didn’t protest as he leaned too heavily on her for a few seconds, a bone-deep satisfaction outweighing the momentary discomfort.

Then he propped himself up on his elbows, his hair completely obscuring his face, and pulled out of her, making her shudder a little at the sensation. When he rolled over onto his back, Hermione moved with him, nestling against his side. Her lips found his earlobe, sucked it in, grazed her teeth over it. She let go when he didn’t react immediately, and whispered directly into his ear.

“That was brilliant, would you mind doing that again sometime soon?”

Severus chuckled; a deep, rumbling sound, but there was a bit of relief in it, as well, and Hermione wondered how, after what had just happened, he could still have been in any doubt about this.

“Provided you let me rest first,” he replied, in his deepest voice; but there was a hint of eagerness she did not miss.

“Oh,” she said suddenly, moving to sit up, but failing, as Severus arms crept ‘round her to hold her in place in what seemed to be a purely automatic movement; judging by the faint look of surprise on his face.

“No, I have too,” Hermione murmured. “Forgot to take the potion.”

She had planned on doing that after lunch...

He held onto her, still.

“If I am correct in assuming you’re talking about a contraceptive potion,” Severus stated bluntly, “you don’t need to bother, because I took one this morning.”

Hermione let herself fall back down immediately, and drew up the covers over the both of them.

“Thanks.”

Then, with a grin that made her lips move over the skin of his upper arm, where they had come to rest, she murmured, in a voice already coloured by sleep,

“So sure of yourself there?”

“It was an uncharacteristic bout of optimism,” he muttered, sounding only slightly embarrassed.

~---~

Severus woke some time later, lying still and listening to Hermione’s even breaths. He’d never had sex with somebody he knew well, and trusted, and desired beyond the purely physical. Remembering his runes, he drew out the soft curves and sharp angles of _Desire_ on her back, and smiled, like the fool that he was, when she made a noise in her sleep, but did not stir.

He had done drawings, once, as a boy, before Hogwarts. His mother, often harsh and distant, had loved them, and had pretended they were hers, when his father, drunk and dangerous, had taken him to task for ‘behaving like a girl again’. His father had accused his mother of lying, and had given her the beating that had been intended for Severus, seemingly starting a new pattern in his drunken behaviour.

Nine-year-old-Severus hadn’t forgiven himself for that, and had never taken up his pencils again. In hindsight, he was sure his father must have been beating her regularly before; that it had only been the first time Severus had witnessed it.

He tried to push away these thoughts that had come unbidden; he had only remembered the drawings because he’d observed Hermione’s locks spilling out over the pillow in all directions, and the way the thin line of sunlight that the curtains let in flickered over her skin.

Damn it all, this was his house, and his parents were long dead. He reached down a hand over the edge of the bed, and took hold of Hermione’s wand, which felt somewhat different from his own, but not unpleasantly so. Without any difficulty, he summoned a self-inking quill and a few pieces of paper from the mostly unused printer that had come with his computer, and started to draw.


	37. Thirty-seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As is sometimes the case, sharing physical intimacy leads to sharing other things about oneself, as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hm, some warnings for this chapter. It's only "descriptions of", but still. They're in the end notes, for those who would like them.

Hermione woke to the rustling of paper. She opened her eyes to find sheets of paper all around herself, and reached out for one of them. Instantly, she heard Severus mutter a summoning spell, but she held on to the fluttering piece of paper in her hands automatically, remembering where she was, and why.

The paper still struggled a bit as she turned it around, discovering an inked sketch of a woman’s back – _hers_ , if the wild hair was any indication.

She turned around and handed it to Severus, kissing his scowl away.

“I didn’t know you drew,” she said, as she lay back again on the bed. She noted the defiance in his tone when he professed to have taken it up again just now. There was a story there, but it could wait for another day.

She moved to sit up, and drew in a breath that smelled of sweat and of sex. Certainly not a bad combination in the moment, but now... Well.

“Do you have a bathtub?”

Severus raised his eyebrows.

“One of the few changes I made to the house.”

Hermione smiled, already imagining a large claw-footed wizarding monstrosity in an otherwise Muggle bathroom. But no, Severus was too practical for that.

“Shall we?” she asked him, and he stared at her.

“Together?”

Hermione laughed, and kissed his nose.

“Only if you want to.”

“I hope you’re good at furniture enlargement spells,” he muttered, but didn’t protest further. He looked at her expectantly, though, so she got up first, trying to combat her self-consciousness about being naked in the evening light falling through the now half opened curtains. It became easier when she remembered how he had looked at her earlier.

“The door on the left,” Severus said. She heard the bedcovers rustle, and turned back to look at him. He made an aborted movement that she identified as ‘trying to hide’, having had the same impulse a second ago. _Don’t! You look good to me_ , she thought, but stopped herself from saying it right now, fearing he would not believe her. Instead, she stepped close again for a kiss, ignoring his slightly stale breath.

“Come, then.”

He followed her without protest.

The bathtub was a small, white, nondescript thing, but their enlargement spells worked just fine.

She was reclining against Severus with a content sigh a few minutes later – he seemed intent on mapping every inch of her body with his fingers. Suddenly, his fingers stopped on her left forearm.

“What is this?”

He had found the faint scar, nearly gone now; it was only visible as a white line because he had applied light pressure when he drew his fingers over it.

Hermione swallowed loudly, and drew in a deep breath, before she responded.

“Bellatrix was trying to carve something into my arm, but she was interrupted.”

She felt Severus tense up behind her at her words, and wondered if he’d already realised that the four shaky letters one could still discern if one looked closely would have been continued, to spell out the word ‘mudblood’, had Bellatrix been able to finish what she had started. He must have, judging from the way he tensed up even further.

Hesitantly, he lifted her arm a little, and leaned forward, to place a kiss on the remnants of the scar. Hermione felt sudden tears run down her cheeks at the gesture, and wiped them away with the back of her right hand.

She was glad Severus didn’t notice the reason for that hand movement: when he asked her at which point all of this had happened, he sounded as if he unreasonably blamed himself enough already. Hermione forced herself to talk about Malfoy Manor, about Bellatrix interrogation, the Cruciatus curse, the knife that had somehow been worse. Severus hadn’t know any of the details, having been somewhat ‘out of the loop’ at Hogwarts during those last months of the war.

The water had grown cold. Hermione reached for her wand, which had been lying outside the bathtub, and applied a warming charm.

She turned around in the water to do it, facing Severus now. Her tale had exhausted her; she had never told anyone the extent of those events. Harry and Ron had been there, but the three of them avoided the topic by unspoken agreement; and she couldn’t bring herself to burden her parents, or Ginny, with it. Despite the impulse of wanting to curl up somewhere and try to forget, she carefully touched a hand to the scars on Severus’ back and asked him,

“What about yours?”

He turned his head away and remained silent for a while, but then sighed,

“Let’s get out of here first.”

In near silence, they washed their hair and dried off, Severus putting on a black dressing gown, Hermione summoning her bag and accioing her bathrobe out of it.

When they went into the kitchen, both at first with a towel turban around their still-wet hair, Severus busied himself with fixing something to eat. Hermione noticed with interest that the kitchen was very well stocked, and with mostly Muggle products. He must have spent a fortune at the supermarket. Hm, what did he wear, when he went there? she mused idly, remembering the t-shirt she had once seen him in, and imagining a long black coat to replace the robes on cold days.

She was pulled out of her thoughts by a platter of sandwiches appearing in front of her. They ate, and moved to the couch in the living room afterwards, still not talking all that much, until Hermione reminded Severus carefully of her question. He closed his eyes and said, his face a mask,

“There is nothing much to tell. My father used a belt to hit me, and sometimes the end with the belt buckle wasn’t the one in his hands.”

Hermione gasped, and, when she’d processed what he was saying, clutched his forearms in both of her hands. She remembered how she had traced the uneven scars earlier, and couldn’t help but imagine how the metal edges of a belt buckle had broken his skin. Before she had found a way to reply, she heard Severus say, with something almost like wonder in his voice,

“I have never told anybody about this.”

Hermione looked up at him. His eyes glinting, he continued,

“And I don’t mind you knowing. I thought I would.”

She buried her face in his robe; held onto him tightly. Breathing in his scent, mixed with the faint smell of shampoo, she whispered, on impulse,

“I know you never asked for it, but you have my heart, and I don’t want it back.”

She kissed him, slowly softening the shocked expression on his face. Severus brushed the back of his hand against her cheek, and then took her face in both hands, placing a kiss on her forehead. Hermione looked up at him with a smile, but he turned his head a bit, so that she could only see his profile.

Quietly, haltingly, he started to tell her about an awkward little boy; a boy who did not trust anyone in the world. Not when he watched his mother keep secrets from his father – teaching the boy to keep his magic hidden away, practically forcing him to do so; sternly sometimes, and sometimes in hysterics. When he was overflowing with it, she made him channel it into nasty things, evil things ‘for enemies’, she said.

Severus spoke about how the boy had finally understood her warnings, when, forgetting about them one day, he had mended a dish his father had just broken, and had received his first beating – from his father’s hand, that time, but in some ways, it had stung more than the belt ever could, afterwards, when his trust was already broken.

Severus remembered a snapped piece of wood that the boy’s mother had always hidden away in a pocket, until his father had thrown it into the fire one day, causing an explosion that nearly burned the house down.

He told Hermione how the boy had seen his mother being beaten for the first time, for something that the boy had done.

He explained, in a strained voice, how she had blamed the boy for supposedly provoking his father further; when the boy had only tried to defend her; how the boy had, if only for a moment, hated her more for this than he had ever hated his father. Severus spoke of how the boy had felt the full force of her ire, when he had asked her if ‘Da’ could be an enemy, as well.

The mother, in turn, had not been able to bear the boy’s loss of faith in her, which was cemented when she forbade him to stand up to his father. She started to justify herself to him. At barely ten years of age, the boy had lost respect for his mother; his father never really having possessed it.

From then on, the boy had been alone, except for this one girl, so different from all he knew that she was slightly unreal to him. A girl whom he admired, but whom he could not trust completely, feeling that she would be repulsed by the horrible things he carried around with him.

Severus talked of the father’s descent into alcoholism, of how it had allowed the boy’s mother to send him away to Hogwarts, his father seeing through her deceit about the nature of the school only when the boy came back the first summer.

Finally, he spoke of the boy coming home after his fifth year at Hogwarts, to find that his mother had been buried the week before, to find his father whining about how he had not known how to reach his own son.

He described the boy running to the cemetery, falling down at a newly-closed grave; then yelling at an old lady that lived next door, until she confirmed what the father had said – that his mother had simply walked up the stairs in a neighbouring apartment block one day, to jump from a seventh-floor window.

He recalled the lady’s pitying look when she told the boy that no, his mother had not been pushed, that she had been alone; that his father had needed to be dragged home from the pub when it had happened.

Severus whispered of the boy knowing about a hundred poisons he could slip his father, and of how instead he had watched the man continue to slowly poison himself, until he had died, shortly after the boy had graduated.

Hermione looked Severus in the eye, when he finally abandoned his eerily calm, detached style of narration, and said,

“He had... I had already become a Death Eater then, just a few weeks before, and it was a good thing Da died, because I believe I would have killed him, eventually.”

Severus was looking at her as if he thought she might be disgusted by that revelation, or maybe by all of what he had just told her. She was aching for him, but knew he wouldn’t want to hear her say that she was sorry, or grieved, or any of that. Instead, she opted for,

“I am glad you have been spared that, if not much else.”

She added nothing more, trying to convey with only a look that, as much as she could, she did not feel for him, but with him.

Slowly, Severus’ carefully composed expression fell apart, until he hid his face at her chest with a small, heartsore sound.

Hermione held onto him.

When she looked up, she found a portrait’s sorrowful eyes on them.

~---~

Severus wondered how all of these things that had forced themselves out of him had not, in fact, shattered him. He felt slightly dizzy, emptied out, but it was not necessarily a bad feeling.

He did not protest when Hermione whispered, “Come on”, and dragged him up from the sofa and then up the stairs.

He lay down on the bed with her, and watched, with a feeling of remoteness, as she placed a kiss on his forehead, returning his earlier gesture. It was as if he was there, but not quite, and he thought, without it worrying him overmuch, that he had lost his capacity to analyse what was happening. He just watched, as some muscles on Hermione’s face moved into what seemed a different expression from the previous one, though he could not decode it right now.

Slowly, oh so slowly, as her fingers and lips touched his face, his arms, his chest, his feet, his knees, Severus attached emotions to the touches. Instead of just existing, they started to mean something again.

Mechanically at first, but growing more sure of himself by the second, he reciprocated, and understood, just when it started to vanish, that the expression on her face had been one of worry.

Hermione shrugged off her robe, and placed her hands on his dressing gown, and he nodded. She divested him of the garment.

They lay beside each other for a while, skin touching skin, unmoving. Then, their hands started to roam over the other’s body, slowly, then frantically, until she reached down, lined up his sex with hers, and pushed herself down.

They became still once more, then, for a long time. Finally, they started to move, almost as if in a trance, filling up with feeling until it could no longer be contained, and, with a simultaneous sigh, they let it overflow, let themselves be dragged under by it.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: 
> 
> Descriptions of past violence, past domestic abuse and past suicide.


	38. Thirty-eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pretty ordinary day, though some important decisions are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, posting a bit later today, work went completely crazy.
> 
> Second to last chapter, guys... I' m a bit sad to see this come to an end... Well, I suppose I'll just have to finish and post something else soon ;-)

In the middle of the night, Hermione woke to the tossing and turning of her bedmate. Carefully, she shook him awake, by the faint light of a hastily cast _Lumos_.

“It looked like you were having a nightmare.”

Severus informed her gravely that there was another bedroom, should she wish to sleep uninterrupted. Hermione threw him an annoyed look and explained that she was just as likely to wake him in the same manner, and should he wish for her to move to the other room...

“No!”

She smiled a little at his vehemence.

“That’s good, because I’d really rather stay.”

When she woke him up from a second nightmare just an hour later, she stopped his apology by asking, feeling more than a little guilty,

“Have I triggered this? With my questions?”

Sitting up beside her, Severus denied it with a shake of his head.

“I do not remember clearly, but this one had something to do with Albus, I think.”

He didn’t elaborate further, so, after a prolonged pause, Hermione inquired after something else, while she extinguished the light and snuggled into his side.

Severus, who had started to run his fingers through her hair, murmured,

“Yes, I left Fawkes at Hogwarts. I should... or rather we should go to see him regularly, lest he decide to show up here... There aren’t many neighbours, but I’d rather not risk a confluence at my front door.”

Hermione, already nearly dozing off, murmured back,

“I thought the house was secret-kept?”

His answer woke her up again.

“It is perfectly visible to Muggles. Albus was secret-keeper, and he managed that. Otherwise, it would not have been possible without extensive memory-modification; the house had been visible for decades, after all.”

Severus had been sliding down from his reclining position against the headboard, and was now lying beside her, one arm thrown over her shoulder. Hermione, intrigued, asked to whom the secret had passed with Dumbledore’s death.

“The only two people who know, and who are alive and ‘at large’, so to speak, are Draco and Narcissa, to the best of my knowledge.”

That wasn’t too bad, Hermione supposed. She didn’t reply straight away, however, and when she thought about saying something, she realised that his breaths were evening out. So she kept her mouth shut, drifting off again herself.

When she woke next, sunshine was streaming through the half-open curtains, and she was alone. She summoned a nice summery dress out of her bag, and sighed when half of the contents flew out as she accioed some underwear, as well. She ascertained the chaos, then applied a folding charm and sent the clothes back into the bag.

Straightening up, she found Severus standing in the doorway. He had apparently appreciated watching her naked form, bent down to reorganise her bag, and was looking a little caught out. When she raised her eyebrows with a smile, he smirked back and said, with a pointed look at the bag, but in an otherwise purposefully nonchalant manner,

“The left side of the cupboard is empty.”

Hermione beamed at him, opened the left door, and let her clothes fly in. With a flick of her wand, they arranged themselves into neat piles.

She said a quiet “Thank you”, and gave him a kiss on the cheek, before taking herself off to the bathroom.

Coming out of the shower, she realised with faint shock that it was noon already. She rarely slept so long.

The kitchen smelled of pasta sauce and spices, and Hermione observed Severus for a while, until he looked up and noticed her.

“It must be fascinating, watching me cook.”

Hermione joined him, to take over the preparation of a salad, and answered,

“It bears a distinct resemblance to the way you brew, and you must know I am fascinated by that.”

Severus tilted his head inquiringly, and Hermione smiled.

“It’s why I thought you had to be a good dancer, with all of those precise and graceful movements...”

She identified his look as ‘uncomfortable’ and moved closer, to kiss him until he had forgotten about her compliments.

They finished the cooking, ate Severus’ excellent pasta, and went for a walk. When they came back, Severus showed her the last part of the house (apart from the attic) she hadn’t seen yet – his potions lab in the basement.

It was the opposite of his workroom at Hogwarts – small and cramped, with a complicated Muggle ventilating system that was only working because Severus had made a few permanent magical modifications.

“Yes, I know, misuse of Muggle artefacts, don’t tell Arthur,” he said with a smirk.

Hermione reminded him that Arthur had been promoted, and was working as a coordinator in the MLE’s Auror office now, but abandoned the subject when she saw that Severus had brought the Pensieve solution equipment with him.

Soon, they were examining the samples, and discussing a small change to the recipe that might increase the longevity of the potion, which they promptly tried out. Severus cursed when he bent down in front of the cauldron to retrieve something that had fallen down, and only just prevented his hair from catching fire. Hermione saw herself confirmed in the thought that this was not a place where he could happily work – if he actually decided to leave Hogwarts, they would have to find him a real laboratory.

“I could get used to this kind of routine,” she said to Severus that evening in the living room, where, after an hour or so of reading quietly, side by side, they had now taken their cold dinner.

“You would get bored,” he opined, casting a scrutinizing glance at her.

“With such a large choice in good books, and one or two research projects, and you by my side? Never,” was her reply.

It made Severus snort.

“Glad to hear I come third at least on your list of priorities.”

“Idiot,” Hermione murmured, put away her empty plate on the coffee table, and moved in to lean against his side, resting her head on his shoulder.

Severus sighed, and leaned his own head gently against hers.

“Minerva made me an interesting offer,” he said after a long silence, and explained how his teaching schedule could change if he accepted.

“That sounds pretty much perfect for you. You aren’t all that happy with teaching the young ones, are you? Though you would have to forego your ‘bewitch the mind’-speech.”

She had triggered his laugh again, and felt the shoulder she was leaning on shake slightly.

Serious again, Severus replied,

“The idea is certainly tempting, even with that little drawback you just pointed out. But what about... your own plans?”

He trailed off when Hermione summoned the catalogue she had brought with her. They went through it for a while, until Hermione summed it all up with what she had known from the start.

“See, as I told you, Edinburgh has one of the best courses, with that new ‘Applar’-program.”

Severus screwed up his face at the idea of naming a course by using this abbreviation of ‘Applied Arithmancy’, but he had to concede it sounded very interesting otherwise.

Hermione tried to reassure him,

“Aside from the fact that it would be ideal for you if you want to stay at Hogwarts – and I think you do –, I don’t much fancy the idea of studying at Salem or Johannesburg, anyway; and only those two would have similar courses. I think I’ll just apply to Edinburgh; and maybe to a few of the English universities for the purely theoretical courses, in case they don’t accept me at Edinburgh.”

She laughed at Severus next words.

“They would be more imbecilic than the common flubberworm, if they did not take you on.”

He sounded incredulous that she would even suggest it.

“I’m starting to suspect you have too much faith in my abilities. Let’s wait for my NEWT results, shall we?”

Seeing his carefully blank look, she exclaimed,

“Oh no, you did not! Where are they?”

She snatched the envelope out of his hands as soon as he had unearthed it from his pockets.

“There was an owl this morning,” he explained, not sounding sorry at all for keeping her in the dark.

“And you kept this from me because...?”

He had the gall to grin at her.

“Because, provided that you achieved one ‘E’ in any of your subjects, you might have sulked the whole day.”

Hermione tore open the envelope, stared at the page in front of her, struggled to keep a straight face, and handed it to him. Severus raised his eyebrows at the uninterrupted line of ‘O’s.

“Excuse me. Apparently I didn’t have enough faith in your abilities after all.”

“I really should be annoyed with you about this,” she murmured, but gave him a kiss. When Severus drew her close, however, she protested,

“Oh no, I’ll have to write and enquire about Harry and Ron and the others now.”

She kissed the scowl on his forehead this time, reminding him that it was his own fault for keeping the letter from her until now, and sat down to write several missives to Grimmauld Place. After a few minutes, she remembered with a start and a curse that neither Severus nor she owned an owl. She looked up to see whether Severus was still there, and found a note hovering in front of her.

_Gone to fetch an owl at the Manchester post office._

With a grateful smile, she went back to her letters, and heard the front door open a few minutes later, accompanied by the angry cries of an owl.

“She does not take kindly to apparating,” Severus explained, coming back into the living room with the sulking bird. Hermione hastily finished her letters, and sent the disgruntled messenger on its way.

“That more than repaid for holding back the results,” she decided, plucking a few feathers from Severus’ robes. She remembered trying it once before; this time he let her. “So, how can I make it up to you?”

She delighted in his beautiful blush, and in his reply.

“How about coming to bed?”

Hermione certainly had no objections to that suggestion.

~---~

Severus lay awake, watching Hermione sleep. For his part, he had trouble falling asleep. Happiness was making him nervous, he had discovered recently. He had the distinct feeling that something would go wrong very soon. But then again, he told himself, so much had gone wrong during the first thirty-nine years of his life that, hopefully, he had exhausted his allocation of horribleness for the rest of his days.

Feeling that sleep would remain elusive, he summoned quill and parchment, and started composing a letter of acceptance to Minerva, reminding her that a second potions workroom would be needed for whomever would have the misfortune to teach the first to fourth years from now on. Severus groaned quietly as he remembered that Longbottom would almost certainly be awarded the Herbology apprenticeship. Well. Severus supposed he should be grateful. The young man wasn’t a bad teacher; and he could at least help out if the new professor for the younger students turned out to be incompetent.

These organisational reflections led him to the fact that they would have to look for a flat, or at least a room, in Edinburgh – there was a possibility that would allow Hermione to stay at Hogwarts, of course, but surely he could not... no, definitely not. Although...


	39. Thirty-nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We close, dear reader, on a bit of mysterious magic, a temporary relapse into doubt, and a thoroughly unromantic discussion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's it, the last chapter, but only one of many for our two heroes, I believe :-)

“Draco has asked Ginny for permission to court her.”

Hermione watched, amused, as Severus’ fork came to a halt halfway on the way to his mouth. As if in slow motion, a piece of potato slid from the fork teeth, and fell with a plop into a pool of sauce. Severus spelled away a few splashes on his robes with a look of disgust on his face. Then he lifted his head, his expression now carefully neutral, and said,

“Is that so?”

Hermione nodded, holding up the letter that she had opened a minute ago, the first of several that had arrived from her friends today, and added,

“Also, Draco would like to inform you that you should protest now, if you don’t want to stand for him at the wedding in about a year’s time.”

With that, she went back to her lunch, and watched with a bit of glee as Severus tried to look nonchalant, and failed. Finally, he gave up.

“Did you know this was coming?”

She made an ‘I don’t know, maybe?’-face. “Well, they’re both from old pureblood families, so the thought had crossed my mind that he might ask sooner rather than later, and draw on tradition, too.”

Severus was still looking at her strangely. She explained to him when and how ‘Draco & Ginny’ had happened, but the look remained.

“Don’t you think they are quite young, for a formal courtship?” he finally asked.

“Oh, I don’t know, it seems to me that a formal courtship is one of the best ways to really get to know the person you’ll bond with, and eventually marry, isn’t it?”

After Ginny had told her about the meaning of her amulet, Hermione had read up on the various courtship traditions and rituals – it all sounded deeply personal, up to and including something that had been described only vaguely as ‘the meeting of the magicks’, and was supposed to create some kind of lasting magical connection between the two people involved.

 She smiled a little at Severus, who had tilted his head again. Eyes narrowing slightly, he replied,

“One could say that. But there is an incredible stigma attached to breaking it off, as well.”

_Typical_ , Hermione thought. As always, her books had not mentioned that. She made a mental note to read more wizarding fiction; that was surely where one would find this kind of information. Curious, she asked,

“So what is this ‘meeting of the magicks’ my books talk about? I couldn’t find an explanation anywhere.”

Severus sighed, and shrugged. The gesture looked completely incongruous on him.

“That’s because there isn’t one. Supposedly, if the courtship has brought the two people involved close enough, it just happens when they speak the words.”

He sounded more than a little sceptical, adding,

“I am sure there are couples who finalise their courtship without that bonding. It is completely private after all, so who knows how many have hidden the ‘shameful’ fact that it didn’t work. Who knows if it works at all.”

Hermione wondered about that outburst; it sounded like something he had thought about quite a lot. Maybe he had once contemplated it? With Lily? Oh, she wouldn’t think about that. Instead, she said,

“Well, even if nothing else happens, the words are still quite nice to hear, don’t you think?”

The ritual words had stayed in her mind immediately when she’d read them. She pushed her plate away and intoned, looking up at Severus as she did so,

“ _Simul nos sunt unum_...”

She saw his eyes widen, and noticed a kind of tug inside of her, located at a specific point beneath her ribs, but somehow, weirdly, everywhere at once as well.

She watched, mesmerised, as Severus, almost automatically, gave the required response.

What happened next was so strange that she understood why no book described it. The closest she could get was that her magic, like a rippling wave, maybe, spread out, and encountered another wave, unfamiliar and familiar at the same time... she gave up on trying to analyse it, and just felt for the next... however long it was.

Hermione looked at Severus.

Severus looked at Hermione.

For a long time, they studied each other in silence.

There were so many things that Hermione had just learned, but mainly this: that, for all they had gotten to know each other, they knew nothing still. She could never have imagined how differently two people could experience the world. The man in front of her was so other, so complex, so many-layered, so _fascinating..._ and he was looking at her in a way that made it clear he was thinking the same thing about her boring little self.

Finally, she spoke up.

“Did we just get bonded at the kitchen table?”

“I believe so,” Severus answered gravely. After a second of stillness, Hermione dissolved into laughter. Severus kept a straight face for a few seconds longer, but then he joined her, with that laugh she loved so well.

When they calmed down, Hermione noticed Severus looking at her in an inscrutable manner. She had difficulty categorising it, in any case. Something was troubling him; that much was clear. Hermione stepped around the table and behind his chair, intend on putting her arms around him; but he stood and turned. She pushed the chair out of the way and placed her hands on his chest, looking up into his frowning face.

“What is it, husband mine?”

She just had to say it, although, technically, they weren’t married, of course. Something flashed in his eyes and his frown deepened. She was thrown by his next words.

“Don’t you think that you might come to resent it?”

It took her a second to understand what he was saying.

“This? You mean what’s between us?”

He gave a jerky nod, and added in a hoarse voice,

“It may change, it may... pass, and then you would still be bound to me in some way.”

Oh, that stung. Hermione reminded herself firmly of what she had just learned about him, of how complicated a man he was, but still she had to answer, her voice a mere whisper,

“Have you no faith in me?”

She half turned away to hide the wince that accompanied the words. Dismay coloured his voice, as he replied,

“That is not what I – “

Hermione interrupted him, whirling around.

“Isn’t it, though? Do you think your feelings for me will disappear sometime soon?”

Severus took a quick step back, as if he had been struck.

“No!”

Hermione followed his movement, making him take another step backwards and bump into the table.

“Then why, _why_ do you insist on believing that might be the case for me?”

He looked at her as if she had gone mad.

“It is not the same.”

Oh, this was getting better and better. _Calm down_ , she told herself, but she heard her voice go shrill with her next words, nevertheless.

“In what way? Am I too young, and too stupid, and too shallow?”

Again, Severus seemed shocked at her words. Very quietly, he said, without looking at her,

“It is precisely because you are neither stupid nor shallow that I am afraid you might come to your senses one day.”

Hermione shook her head at him, but his eyes were still trained on the floor.

“If that is your definition of coming to one’s senses, mine can gladly stay lost.”

She reached out and took one of his clenched hands in both of hers, placed kisses on the knuckles, as she had done once before, and murmured,

“Tell me, what has triggered this?”

Uncharacteristically for him, Severus seemed to have trouble finding the words for what he was trying to say.

“I... there was so much of you. So little I know or understand. But it was... beautiful, and... even if I did not... even if I did not understand, I saw it all, and you must have seen...”

Hermione slumped against Severus, giving him no choice but to put his arms around her if he did not want her to slide to the floor. He complied, in a halting movement devoid of his usual grace.

“Yes, I saw you. And there was nothing there that made me love you any less.”

His arms tightened painfully around her for a second, but she certainly didn’t complain. He cleared his throat.

“It is, I think, easier for me to believe that you will find a reason to turn away, eventually. Not because I doubt your regard for me...”

“...but because you have too little regard for yourself.”

Severus sighed – a deep, drawn out sound.

“If you say so. I shall endeavour to believe you in all of these matters. In fact, I remember telling you to assume...”

“... that you know nothing about this. I do remember.”

She looked up at him with a small frown.

“Merlin, stop me from ending your sentences. That must be annoying.”

He shook his head, and kissed her. And kissed her, and kissed her, and kissed her.

Over the course of the afternoon, as they brewed, and started in on assembling an article for Potions Quarterly from their mountains of notes; as Hermione, giggling, showed a ‘gossip item’ in _Witch Weekly_ to Severus that had come as a cut-out with Ginny’s earlier abandoned letter, and delighted in Severus’ scowl at being declared one half of ‘Granger  & Snape – the new power couple?’; as they sat down in the living room for tea, and Hermione remembered to gently break it to Severus that her parents would visit Britain in about two weeks time and would want to meet him; as they discussed Harry’s decision not to become an Auror, the fact that Ginny had been called back for a test game with the Hollyhead Harpies, the reason why Severus owned a computer, and why he wasn’t at all fond of Indran Zarantuwa; as they decided spontaneously to apparate to Grimmauld Place to take Crookshanks with them, and were promptly spotted by Harry, who made them stay for an almost entirely non-awkward dinner with the rest of the gang; and even as they fell into bed, exhausted, Hermione was wondering in the back of her mind whether there wasn’t a way to convince Severus, once and for all, that she would not leave him.

Suddenly, on impulse, she turned in his embrace, so that she could look at him, and said,

“I have thought about having children with you, you know.”

It was true. Since Luna had placed that bug in her head, she had been unable to get it out again.

Beside her, Severus was scrambling to sit up. Sounding slightly short of breath, he answered,

“ _Merlin_. Are you out of your mind?”

~---~

Severus looked down at Hermione, who was smiling at his shocked expression.

_Children?_ Having never dared to plan past finding someone he could bear to live with, and who, even more improbably, could bear to live with him; the thought had only very rarely crossed his mind. There were dozens, probably hundreds of reasons why it was a terrible idea, of course.

Seeing the way she looked at him, Severus couldn’t, however, bring himself to mention any of them. Hermione was still smiling at him; a lazy smile.

“Not now, obviously,” she said, the smile briefly morphing into a grin. “And perhaps we could get married first.”

Right; apparently he could stop agonising about whether to breach that subject with her, as well.

“It would certainly have its merits, for practical reasons.”

Hermione propped herself up against the headboard now, looking intrigued.

“Oh? Why is that?”

“Well, for one thing, you could stay at Hogwarts and floo to Edinburgh every morning, if you so wished...”

She interrupted him, sounding excited.

“Oh, why didn’t you tell me this earlier? Great, let’s do that.”

Before he could reply, she started laughing.

“Well, we have certainly managed to cut back on the romanticism – that was about as unromantic a proposal as one could possibly imagine.”

Severus felt a grin break out on his face, where, until recently, there might have been a scowl, and, making use of a now tried and tested method, he shut her up with a kiss.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it ends with a kiss.
> 
> A huge thank you to everyone who has read, left kudos on, and commented on this story! You're all far too kind.
> 
> If you are reading this story now that I've finished posting, or even a year or two from now, and have made it to this point, I would love to hear back from you, be it in a small comment or longer review (which does not need to be all positive, I should be able to handle some constructive criticism, I hope ;-) )
> 
> Enjoy your (very brief) glimpse into the future in the epilogue. Read you soon!


	40. Forty - Epilogue

Several years later, a woman and a man stood at a child’s crib.

The woman whispered something, and the man nodded, his dark eyes glinting in the faint moonlight that bathed the room in shadow. With slow, careful movements, he tucked in the little form in the crib.

He chuckled quietly when he saw the tiny silver dragons on the blanket curl up and go to sleep as well.

 

_Written and posted September 2017 - January 2018_


End file.
